The Hound: A Harrowing Saga Tale, Part 1
by StratX88
Summary: Harrow, the Hel's Hound, the Meridian's most infamous bounty hunter, is blackmailed into kidnapping Hiccup at the behest of Viggo Grimborn, Leader of the Dragon Hunters. Posing as a shipwreck survivor, Harrow meets the Dragon Riders of Berk and discovers that his mission will not be as easy as he thought. With an innocent life hanging in the balance, can Viggo's plan be thwarted?
1. The Deal

**Greetings, dear readers, fans and fellow writers! Welcome to my first sortie into the world of fanfiction. I do hope that my meager scribblings entertain you. If you read this humble offering and you find yourself enjoying the story, please leave a review. I look forward to constructive criticism from fellow writers. Please, if something is not to your liking, do not simply tell me that it sucks - kindly present your case. Otherwise, how else can I improve?**

 **Disclaimer: I own only the original characters and locations that appear within this work of fiction. The original characters and locations are all property of DreamWorks or Cressida Cowell (Franchise and Book materials respectively). This is an effort purely done for personal enjoyment.**

 **Now, on to the story!**

 **StratX8**

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iIi

Stormwrack Island, as the name would imply, experienced storms of frightening intensity with an unusual regularity. This was made even more remarkable by the fact that it happened to sit in the extreme northeastern corner of the Meridian of Misery, a region of the world known for it's inimical nature to both man and beast. One would assume that being the proverbial yaks-eye for enormous storm fronts three quarters of the year would render the heavily-forested isle inhospitable to the encroachment of civilization. But, as fate would have it, civilization did plant its seed on those wind torn and rain soaked shores.

Port Tempest, perhaps the greatest of the free settlements in the Meridian of Misery, sat perched like a stubborn barnacle on Stormwrack Island's southern tip. It occupied a peninsula where three natural harbors had formed, as if Odin himself had reached down from Asgard with a massive spoon and scooped them out of the sea's bedrock at the creation of Midgard. There, the first docks, streets, and huts had been raised two hundred years ago by a retired sea reaver, one Varic the Navigator, and his loyal crew.

In the present day, it sprawled over the peninsula and occupied all three of the natural harbors. It's population had swelled from a merely a dozen hardy souls to nearly five thousand, and each year more people came from all over the Meridian. They came and were welcomed regardless of previous tribal fealty, clan lineage or past deeds.

The Harbormaster, the elected leader of the Port, had decreed that no man, woman, or child would be turned away if they had the heart and the will to make something of themselves. And, so long as they respected the Port's laws, of course.

Port Tempest flourished as it grew, earning the attention of merchants looking for a place to establish new markets and to purchase new goods. A bustling ship-building industry also sprang up, furnishing those who paid the right amount of coin with expertly crafted ships of all sizes.

Taverns, inns, common houses, and tenements sprung up in the Gold Quarter to serve the crowds of sailors, laborers, and merchantmen that ebbed and flowed with the tides and the seasons of the year.

The Tipsy Scauldron was just one such establishment. It could be found at the elbow of Seamist Street, just before the cobbled lane swung west and led to the gates of the Tide Quarter and the shipwright's drydocks and slipways beyond in the West Harbor.

The Scauldron, as the locals and regulars simply called the tavern, was not the biggest or the most ostentatiously appointed establishment in the Gold Quarter. There were certainly others who could more readily vouch for that title. But, this tavern was owned and operated by a former sailor, and that was oftentimes the provenance that got people to make their decision.

Ardyn Eldstrom, who had once served aboard a pirate ship that had gone by the moniker the _Sea Hag_ , had seen fifty winters. He had a receding hairline and the hair he had left was grey and no longer the lustrous black it had been in years past. He was short and squat with a frame that had once been heavily muscled and now was running to fat. His joints bothered him now, more so now that he had put on weight, and especially so during the winter months. The local healer gave him a tea that eased the pain. Ardyn preferred to dull his growing discomfort with generous mugs of mead, instead, which no doubt only exasperated the weight problem.

Ardyn didn't care. Life was good at the Scauldron so long as business was brisk, the customers had gold to spend, and he had product to sell. He watched from behind the broad bar counter of the common room as his patrons for the night gathered and sat on benches around the dozen or so tables. They were a motley lot, a mixture of visiting sailors and locals, who spoke loudly in rough voices. Some called for ale and some for mead, raising mugs or clattering steins on the tables as was each their particular habit. A pleasant cacophony reigned in the common room. To some it must seem like barely contained chaos. To Ardyn it sounded like gold falling into his coffer. The sweet music of profits to his ears.

Ardyn had a staff of three serving teenage girls, including his adopted daughter, Signy. She bustled about with a platter of mugs filled to the brim, smiling and laughing and exchanging jokes with the patrons. Those who got too fresh with her felt the bite of her sharp tongue, for she was no wallflower, was Signy. She was pretty and young and well-built, which often drew the wrong kind of attention in a sailor's drinking hole. Many of the Scauldron's patrons had not seen a pretty girl, let alone a woman, for weeks if not months on end. It was simply a natural consequence of being safe on land, a drink in hand and gold in pocket, to make a lewd remark or to cop a feel.

Ardyn had no concerns, though. He stood behind his counter and wiped mugs with a much used dishrag and looked on with watchful eyes. Signy was serving a table of hard-bitten men who couldn't keep their eyes off her chest as the neckline of her blouse billowed outward. He had seen Signy break the fingers of a man twice her size easily.

When that man's friends had taken exception to this turn of events, Harrow, the tavern's sometime bouncer, had thrashed them soundly, and threw them out the front door and onto the street.

Ardyn frowned. He hadn't seen Harrow in a fortnight. That fact alone was not too strange, as the young man worked first as a bounty hunter for hire, and as the Scauldron's bouncer second.

But, as if the reaver-turned-barkeeper's thoughts had called him from across the aether, at that very moment, Harrow walked in through the front door.

Harrow Gudmunson was his proper name, though local lore held that he had others. A young man of nearly twenty winters, of middling height and wiry build, he was. He had a shock of wavy midnight black hair often in need of a comb or a cut. His face was not unhandsome, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. However, an angry red scar marred his rugged good looks, creasing his face from the middle of his forehead down across his right eye to just under his right ear. The blow that had inflicted the wound had also ruined the eye, necessitating its removal. A cloudy glass false-eye had been blown as a replacement. It gave him a fearsome countenance when he glared at folk. His good eye was an unusual storm-grey.

Harrow wore studded leather armor under a cape of scarlet red. At his waist, a wide belt of leather and coiled iron chain. He wore heavy leather boots on his feet and reinforced bracers on his forearms.

The bounty hunter stopped and surveyed the common room. None of the patrons who met his one-eyed gaze held it. They knew that to do so was to invite violence. Harrow had a reputation in Port Tempest.

Armor creaking as he moved, Harrow made his way through the common room to the bar where Ardyn had finished cleaning the mugs and now leaned comfortably, with his hands braced on the timeworn wood of the counter. The bounty hunter kicked a stool away from where it had been sitting up against the front of the bar and sat down.

Ardyn nodded to him. "Harrow."

"Ardyn." the bounty hunter replied, returning the little nod of acknowledgement. "Looks like you have a full house tonight. All quiet?"

"Aye, quiet enough." Ardyn said, shifting his weight. "Just the usual lot coming in out of the cold and wet for a drink and some company. No one getting out of line as of yet."

Harrow smirked and relaxed in his seat. "Good. I'm not in the mood to bust some heads, tonight."

Ardyn raised a thick salt and pepper brow. "Oh? Usually as bloody-minded as a berserker, you are, lad. Something wrong?"

Harrow gave a slight shake of his head. He rubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead, like he was trying to knead away the start to a headache. "No. Just tired. And thirsty."

"Do you want the usual?"

"If you have it." Harrow replied. "Please."

Ardyn turned and reached up to the topmost shelf of the four shelves lining the back wall of the bar area and pulled down a dark glass bottle with a simple wooden cork. The label was faded but had the insignia of a ship's wheel and a lightning bolt emblazoned upon it.

Ardyn reached under the bar and set a small glass upon the countertop. He pulled the cork from the bottle with practiced ease and poured. A fragrant, deep red liquid spilled into the glass. Ardyn stoppered the bottle again and carefully slid the full glass the short distance between the two men.

Harrow took the glass in his left hand and raised it to his nose. He took a deep waft of the heady perfume of the liquid and sighed in appreciation, before setting the glass to his thin lips and slowly sipping the contents. Ardyn watched the young man appreciate the expensive drink and cracked a smile. "Y'know, you are the only one who appreciates the good stuff."

"Just as well." Harrow said dryly, taking another slow sip with obvious relish. "I'd hate to kill someone just to cut down the competition for the Harbormaster's Private Reserve."

"No, you wouldn't." Ardyn teased. "You kill as easy as breathing, lad."

Harrow shrugged, leather armor creaking in protest. "That is true. But, it's not like there are many people on this island who would prefer wine to mead or ale."

"Aye, right you are." Ardyn said, putting a hand on the bottle beside him. "Care for another round before I set the bottle back?"

Harrow drained his glass and set it back on the counter before the older man in silent reply. Ardyn chuckled and poured the wine, slid it back over the bar. This time Harrow left it in front of him and simply stared down into its ruddy depths.

"So, how'd the last job go?" Ardyn inquired after a moment. "Did you get the filthy wretch you were hunting? Uh, what was his name? Mugwort? Mugrim?"

"Mugryd." Harrow supplied with a mirthless smirk. "Mugryd Harsson. And yes, I got him. Found him in a hidey-hole out by Somberheim, on the Isle of Dirge. Had a lady friend who lived in the village, she'd come and bring him food, drink, medicine… you know, the essentials." He chuckled darkly as he recalled the events leading up to the end of his hunt. "All I had to do was follow the poor lass when she set out one night, and she showed me right to him."

"Neat bit of bounty hunting, that."

Harrow shrugged, frowned. "Sometimes it's too easy."

Ardyn turned and carefully placed the bottle of wine back up on the top shelf. "Did he try and beg you off?"

Harrow snorted derisively. "They always do. Offered me gold, swore undying fealty to me personally, all the usual yak-shit that don't count for anything between hunter and mark."

"Aye, they tend to get desperate and rambly when they stare the end in the face." Ardyn opined. "I take it you followed your usual style?"

"Yep." Harrow replied offhandedly, lifting the glass to his lips again. He drank off the wine in one go and licked his lips before setting the glass down again. "Dead after all is so much easier to travel with than alive." He curled his lip and added, "Get tired of the smell, though."

Ardyn laughed.

"Did I miss anything while I was gone?" Harrow asked, sliding the now empty glass back and forth across the counter from one hand to the other. He tracked the glass with his good eye as he did. "Did anyone come offering a job?"

Ardyn frowned and plucked the glass from between the bounty hunter's hands in mid-slid. "You're going to break it if you keep that up, lad."

Frowning, Harrow's one eye flicked up to catch the old barkeeper's two. "Ardyn, you didn't answer the question."

"Well, you can't fault me." Ardyn retorted peevishly, sliding his gaze away. "I don't have so many fine glasses that I can let you play with them like a cat with a mouse!"

Harrow's gaze hardened, his brow furrowing. "Ardyn…"

"Alright!" the barkeep cried, raising both hands in a gesture of appeasement. "Ease up, lad, you don't need to give me the old gimlet gaze! Grace of Asgard!"

"I don't like it when people try and keep things from me, Ardyn." Harrow chastised, his voice gone deadly soft. "You know that. Don't make me ask again."

"Fine." Ardyn relented, running a gnarled hand through thinning hair in his agitation. He looked around the common room of the Scauldron and then leaned in closer to the bounty hunter. When he spoke, he spoke just loud enough to be heard over the jolly ruckus of the patrons.

"A dangerous looking sort of fellow showed up three nights ago. Walked in through the front door and started asking around for the bounty hunter known as Hel's Hound."

"Dangerous, you say?" Harrow remarked in a low voice. "That covers a lot of ground. Can you be a bit more descriptive?"

"Aye, I can." Ardyn replied with a nod. "He wore a cuirass of cured dragonhide. Had the swagger of a big shot, he did. Like he owned the whole of Midgard! I didn't place him at the time, but after the second time he showed up, I knew he was one of those crazy Dragon hunter types."

Harrow sat back on his stool, his expression shifting from annoyed to thoughtful. Dragon hunters were no strangers in the streets of Port Tempest. The Harbormaster had worked out a deal with the hunters when they had first arrived at Stormwrack Island. The Port would render its services to the Dragon hunters, and the hunters would refrain from hunting around Stormwrack or within the Port's boundaries.

That deal had remained in effect for three years running, to the mutual benefit of both parties involved. All in all, a rather satisfactory arrangement.

But in that time the Dragon hunters had not once sought the services of a bounty hunter. Which was perfectly fine, since most bounty hunters would rather take down human marks rather than draconic ones. It tended to ensure a much longer life expectancy in an already very dangerous trade. It was thought that the Dragon hunters were skilled enough or well enough equipped to handle their own problems.

Now, though, Harrow wondered.

"You said he came here the last three nights?" Harrow asked.

"Aye, just after the midnight hour. When the common room was mostly empty."

"Did he come alone?"

"From what I could tell, aye." Ardyn replied thoughtfully. "But he could have just as easily had some friends of his waiting outside. I didn't think to send one of the girls to check."

"It's probably better you didn't." Harrow told him. He rubbed at his forehead again. His drink had eased the onset of his headache, but it was still slowly building. He had gone too many days on too little sleep, and it was beginning to catch up with him. "It may have made them suspicious. They don't know we're working together."

"Smart lad." Ardyn said.

Harrow smiled, a tad sardonically. "Have to be, or you don't last long in this trade."

"True enough." the barkeep said. He paused with his gaze over Harrow's shoulder, then flicked his gaze back at his face. "Don't look now, but I think the same fellow just stepped through the door."

"The Dragon Hunter?" Harrow asked. He had to force himself to maintain a relaxed posture. He felt his palms itch with the prickling sensation that often presaged a fight. Like his hands longed for the feel of a weapon. He clenched his fists on the bar to dispel the feeling. "Are you sure?"

"Aye, sure as sure, lad." Ardyn replied, his voice low. "He's early tonight. Just keep sitting there. He's coming this way."

Harrow said nothing more as a burly middle-aged man dressed exactly as Ardyn had described walked up on his left. The Dragon Hunter cleared his throat. "Is this seat taken?"

"Not at all." Ardyn told him with a genial smile. "Take a load off, friend! Welcome back to the Tipsy Scauldron. What can I do for you this fine evening?"

The Dragon Hunter sat down heavily upon the stool next to Harrow. "I thank you again for your hospitality, barkeep. I'll have an ale, if you please."

"Certainly, friend." Ardyn grabbed a mug from under the bar and stepped down the length of the counter to where the casks of ale were set for broaching. While he was gone, the Dragon Hunter gave Harrow a sidelong glance. Harrow could feel the other man sizing him up, comparing him to some mental checklist.

"I have a question to ask." the Dragon Hunter asked at length. He spoke just loud enough for his words to carry to Harrow. "If you don't mind."

"I do mind, actually." Harrow replied tersely. "But, just the same, I may have an answer."

"I'm looking for a bounty hunter who people in this gods-forsaken town call Hel's Hound. I was told he frequents this particular establishment from time to time."

"You sound rather sure on that matter." Harrow murmured softly. "I thought you were going to ask a question? Or are you just going about wasting my time?"

Unfazed, the Dragon Hunter turned in his seat so that he faced Harrow's profile. He rested one meaty arm on the bar as he regarded the young man carefully. "Are you the one they call Hel's Hound?"

"Who wants to know?"

The Dragon Hunter laughed and bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. "I think that is all the answer I need."

Harrow frowned. "Go ahead and say what you must. Because you must have a message to deliver, am I right?"

"I would prefer to deliver my message elsewhere," the Dragon Hunter indicated with a roll of his eyes the crowded common room with its many guests, "away from wanton ears."

"You will forgive me if I refuse."

"You are no fool, I see."

Harrow quirked an eyebrow. "You assumed I was?"

"It is dangerous to assume anything." the Dragon Hunter replied. "Clearly, such an exemplary bounty hunter as you would no doubt trust nothing at face value."

"Of course." Harrow said. "Say what you came to say."

"Tell me, Hel's Hound, have you heard of the Brothers Grimborn?"

"Can't say that I have."

"They are the leaders of the Dragon Hunters." the Dragon Hunter explained proudly. "And they have sent me to contract your services."

Before Harrow could say anything in reply, Ardyn returned with a mug of ale. The Dragon Hunter took a tentative swig and smacked his lips in appreciation. "My compliments to the brewer! This ale surpasses my expectations."

Ardyn inclined his head, his smile brittle. "You're too kind."

The Dragon Hunter decided to empty the mug in one long, continuous pull. Ardyn and Harrow exchanged a look while the Dragon Hunter was occupied with his refreshment. The barkeep raised an eyebrow by way of a question. _Everything alright?_

In reply, Harrow flicked his gaze down the bar where a new batch of patrons, sailors fresh on shore liberty, had just bellied up to the counter. _Go. I'll handle this._

"Ah!" the Dragon Hunter slammed his mug on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked around for the barkeep.

"You had mentioned a contract?" Harrow prompted him.

"Yes. My employers have been having some difficulties lately with their business."

"Is the market for enslaved dragons drying up already?"

"Nothing as simple, or so unlikely." the Dragon Hunter said with a frown. "No, the problem is with dragon riders. One in particular, actually."

"Dragon riders?" Harrow echoed, dubious.

"Yes. But as I said, you need only worry about one."

"Their leader?"

"How perceptive of you." the Dragon Hunter remarked, almost sardonically. He kept his tone just this side of what could be considered respectful. It grated on Harrow's nerves, this insincere doublespeak. "The dragon riders would be much easier to deal with if they had less capable leadership. That is the line of reasoning my employers follow."

"You are going to give me a name, of course."

"Around the Archipelago, his title is known as the Dragon Conqueror." the Dragon Hunter said, "Perhaps you have heard of him?"

Harrow's expression darkened. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third? You mean the Heir to the Chiefdom of Berk?"

"That's the one." the Dragon Hunter replied. "My employers are offering a considerable bounty. To the tune of one thousand gold pieces, to be exact."

"With that kind of bounty every sellsword, pirate and mercenary in the Archipelago will be after him." Harrow observed shrewdly.

"That would indeed be the case, but my employers are confident that your skills will win out in the end. No one else has earned such a fearsome reputation so young, after all." the Dragon hunter attempted a friendly smile. It came off as patronizing to Harrow's practiced eye. "So, what say you?"

"While I appreciate the unlooked for vote of confidence, I'm afraid I will not be taking the job."

There was a brief moment of stunned silence. Then Dragon Hunter recovered and raised one bushy eyebrow. His tone was now well and truly mocking, all attempts at diplomacy fallen by the wayside. "Oh, really? Is the great and terrible Hel's Hound afraid? Does the great and terrible Hel's Hound doubt his abilities? This is not what I expected. Perhaps tales of your capabilities were exagger-"

"Watch your tongue, before I snatch it right out of your Thor-blasted head." Harrow's right hand shot across the intervening distance and seized a hold of the other man's neck. He favored the Dragon Hunter with a predatory grin as he sputtered and gasped. His tone was matter of fact and dispassionate when he spoke.

"Fear, nor inability, has anything to do with my decision, far from it. Only a fool would dare to lay a hand on a man who has won the lasting loyalty of fire breathing monsters. Only the _king_ of fools would dare trifle with said man when he has won the fealty of the deadliest of all dragons, the offspring of death and lightning itself. Let's not forget that he is also the only son and heir of Stoick the Vast."

The Dragon Hunter's face colored with rage and indignation, his hands scrabbled at the vise-like grip on his throat. Harrow may have been shorter by a head and perhaps lighter by fifty pounds, but in his anger his grasp was like iron, and despite the bigger man's desperate efforts his hand would not budge. He ignored the deep scratches the other man's fingernails left behind on his fingers.

"I like to think that I am a prudent man, young as I am. Prudence suggests that I avoid antagonizing fire breathing monsters and one of the greatest fighting chiefs of our era. I'm sure even a lying snake like yourself and your _employers_ would understand this simple reasoning. Now, I believe our business is concluded. And you, my friend, are going to take a little nap!"

With that, Harrow viciously slammed the Dragon Hunter's head against the bar once, twice, three times.

The bigger man put up little resistance with the lack of oxygen making it to his brain. He was stunned by the first blow and completely unconscious by the second. The third blow was just for catharsis. Harrow let him go, his urge for violence spent.

All discussion ended in an instant as the Dragon Hunter fell nerveless from his seat to land in a heap on the floor before the bar, nose and lips bleeding. The common room was deathly quiet for a few long moments as every eye was riveted on the body, then a moment later, on Harrow.

Ardyn stormed down the other side of the counter. "Loki's sagging balls! What did you do that for, you crazy fool!?"

Harrow waved him off dismissively. "Relax. He's not dead."

"Relax!?" Ardyn cried, incredulous. "You're going to have every Dragon Hunter in here after your blood!"

"I'll pay for the damages." Harrow informed him, flippant. "Really, you should calm down. Your face is turning as red as my cloak."

"Da, remember your heart!" Signy chimed in, concern coloring her voice.

Ardyn opened his mouth to say something more, closed it with obvious effort. He breathed deeply, glaring furiously at the bounty hunter who had the gall to sit at his bar and drink his private stock of wine as if nothing had happened. Sometimes he questioned the wisdom of associating with the impulsive young hellion.

A thunderhead on her brow, Signy marched over to where Harrow sat and regarded his handiwork. She slapped his shoulder roughly. "Harrow Gudmunson! You are going to get this ruffian out of my father's common room this instant!"

The crowd of patrons all sucked in a breath of dread. No one laid a hand on the Hel's Hound and didn't have that hand broken. The bounty hunter's violent tendencies were well known by these people.

To the astonishment and relief of all, however, Harrow merely regarded Signy with a cool gaze. His half-lidded look of long-sufferance was like an old dog dealing with a spritely pup gnawing at its ear. "As you wish, Miss Eldstrom."

The bounty hunter stood up from his seat at the bar and turned to face the common room. He pointed out two big sailors who sat at the closest table. "You and you, pick this wretch up and heave him out into the street. _Now_ , if you please."

The two sailors just about knocked over their bench as they scurried to carry out his bidding. One took the Dragon Hunter's hands and the other took his ankles and between them they heaved his bulk off the floor. They shuffled through the front door of the Scauldron and out into the cold, rainy night.

Harrow nodded his satisfaction. Then he turned his gaze over the crowd who still sat in shocked silence. "What are _you_ looking at!?"

Suddenly, everyone found something far more interesting to look at in the bottom of their mugs. Inane conversations were hastily struck up between neighbors. Anything to avoid the wrath of the Hel's Hound.

Signy huffed and folded her arms under her bust. "That poor fool is going to catch his death of cold out there in the rain!"

Harrow sat back down on the stool he had vacated a moment ago. "So what? He didn't catch his death in here, so I'd consider him lucky. What do you want me to do, Signy? Send him to a flophouse?"

"Yes!"

Harrow sighed wearily. "Why do you care?"

"I didn't see him do anything to do you, and you still beat him senseless!" Signy replied, outraged. "Honestly, what is wrong with you?!"

"Really, it's none of your business, Signy. Let it go."

"Don't be an ass, Harrow!" Signy growled, poking the bounty hunter hard in the shoulder. "Why don't you act like a decent human being for once in your life?"

Ardyn cleared his throat. "Trouble with the Dragon Hunters, well, it'd be bad for business."

Harrow laughed darkly. "The gods forbid!"

Signy swatted at him again. "Harrow!"

"Fine!" the bounty hunter got up again and started for the front door. At that moment, the two sailors whom he had dispatched with the unconscious Dragon Hunter returned soaked to the bone. They froze in their tracks when they saw Harrow striding towards them.

"There you two are. Back so soon?"

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Gudmunson, sir." said one of the sailors, clasping his hands before him. "We done what you asked of us."

His compatriot wagged his head frantically up and down. "Yeah! Left that poor fella sittin' up against the wall, under the eaves of another tavern up Seamist."

"Good. Now, you can go back out there and take that wretch to the closest flophouse." Harrow told them.

"Mr Gudmunson, sir, we just got back in!" the first sailor whined. "And soaked to the bone, we are!"

"Aye, would be mighty cruel to send us back out, it would." the second opined. "Freeze us solid as a block of ice, I tells ya!"

Annoyed, Harrow opened his mouth to threaten them but felt the keen gaze of Signy at his back, watching to see what he would do. He knew that if he wanted peace from Signy's endless moral wheedling he would have to find another way. It was simply amazing the lengths he went to for that silly girl.

Luckily, greed could also serve just as readily as force. He reached into the pouch at his belt and produced two gold coins. He held them between the fingers of his right hand and brought them up into the firelight so that they shone.

"Gentlemen, I'd be willing to pay you to do this task for me. A gold coin for each of you upon setting out, and another upon returning. Does that sound fair to you?"

A more complete reversal of attitudes could not be seen. Both men went from petulant resentment to eager helpfulness in the space of a heart beat. A single gold coin was more money than either man would ever see in a whole season of serving on a ship.

"Harrow Gudmunson is a wise, generous soul! That's what I've always said, sir!" the first gushed, his beady eyes shining with a covetous light.

The other sailor snickered and reached out a grubby hand. "Aye, or so we shall once we pocket yon gold!"

Unimpressed, Harrow flipped them the coins. "Step to it, gentlemen."

The two sailors left again in much higher spirits, apparently now oblivious to the wet and cold. Harrow went and sat back down at the bar. Signy was giving him the fisheye and Ardyn had a crooked grin on his face.

"What, you didn't expect _me_ to go out there, did you?" he asked, casting a sidelong glance at Signy.

"Of course not." she bit out archly. "But then I know that Harrow Gudmunson would never lift his own hand to help _anyone_!"

She stormed off to help out her two fellow barmaids. Harrow gazed blankly after her before turning to Ardyn. "What's _her_ problem?"

Ardyn barked a short, sharp laugh and shook his head in bemusement. "Oh, lad, I don't know what to tell you. I think she wants to think better of you, but then you go and disappoint her. She's always trying to find the light in the darkness."

The bounty hunter snorted derisively. "I am what I am."

"Aye, lad, just so." Ardyn agreed, still chuckling to himself. Then his expression turned sober. "But say, what was all that about just now?"

"He offered me a contract."

"Oh. And you brained him because…?"

Harrow winced, rubbed at his forehead with one hand as his headache reached its zenith, like hot metal being jammed into his skull. He hadn't felt it earlier because of the adrenaline.

"All the usual reasons."

"Are you going to make a habit of beating the sense out of anyone who offers you a bum deal, now?"

"Just those who call me a coward."

"Ah."

"Ardyn, I think I'll have another drink."

"Sure thing, lad." Ardyn replied evenly. Harrow watched the older man go about the motions of his job. When the glass of wine sat before him on the counter, smelling like paradise, he heaved a weary breath.

"I… might have overreacted."

"Now you realize it, eh?"

Harrow winced as another twinge stabbed him over his bad eye. "Yeah, I was just thinking that I probably haven't seen the last of the Dragon Hunters."

"Aye, that's a safe bet. But what's done is done, strange waters under the bridge, as they say. What are you going to do now?"

The bounty hunter shrugged, and lifted his glass of wine in a toast to the old barkeep. "What else? I'll get drunk."

iIi


	2. By Hook or by Crook

Harrow wasn't sure what first reached his consciousness down the deep dark well of his shuttered mind. Perhaps it was the smell of brine and stale air that gusted around him. Or perhaps it was the gentle swaying motion that seemed to rock the whole world.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he woke up to his body. His eyes fluttered open. He blinked when he found his vision blurred and watery from his good eye. That helped some and he took stock of himself. He was cold and sore, his muscles stiff from disuse and his clothes were soaked with sweat and blood. His armor and other gear was gone, and he wore only a thin shirt, his pants, and his good leather boots. He didn't remember getting into a fight, yet his face felt swollen and raw. He tasted blood at the back of his mouth. He tried to raise his arms to appraise the damage and found he couldn't.

Thick iron shackles bound his wrists and, on testing the range of motion of his legs, his ankles too. An equally thick iron chain wrapped around his waist. The smaller chains of the shackles from his wrists and ankles hooked into this larger one.

"Ugh… Hel's teeth…" he moaned softly to himself. "Where… am I?"

Harrow looked around at this surroundings. He sat with his legs stretched out on the rough wooden floor of a dimly lit jail cell with his back to a wall.

No, not a jail cell - _a ship's brig_.

He could hear the ship's hull moan and creak around him as it was jostled by the rise and fall of the waves. There was a round porthole on his left at about head-height. A cold moist wind fitfully blew in through the opening along with wan moonlight, his only illumination. Across from the cage door, he could see another cell. It was empty. It too had a porthole on it's far wall but little light came in that way.

A narrow companionway threaded between what Harrow surmised as a pair of cell blocks. The boards that formed the floor were well worn. That meant that whomever had caught him made frequent use of the brig.

Good, at least he wouldn't be left down in the dark and the damp until he died of starvation. Or, being eaten by the rats. He thought he saw beady eyes regarding him hungrily from the shadowy corners of the cell and shuddered.

He felt groggy and tired. His mouth felt like dry wool. His throat cried out for moisture and his tongue felt like it had grown a size too large. Harrow wondered how long he had been unconscious. A couple of days? Maybe three or four? He couldn't tell. He supposed it didn't really matter overmuch. What bothered him more was that he had no recollection of what had happened before he woke up.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a bulkhead door slamming open nearby. Heavy footsteps and rough voices were coming down the companionway outside his cell door. The light of a lantern presaged the arrival of a trio of big men dressed in distinctive dragonhide cuirasses.

 _Oh_ , _shit._ Harrow thought to himself, his spirits sinking into the pit of his stomach. _Shit! Dragon hunters!_

"Oh, well look here, boys!" The one in the lead with the lantern was saying to his companions. They were all looking into the cell from the other side of the door now. "It looks like the big bad bounty hunter is finally awake."

"Hope you rested well, damned son of a jotun." The second Dragon Hunter remarked. "You've got a long night ahead of you!"

"Yeah!" The third chimed in. " _Viggo_ wants a word with you."

"Aye, but before your meeting with the boss." The first cut back in. He hung the lantern on an iron hook on the companionway wall. "We have a debt to collect. You roughed up a lot of our boys back at Port Tempest. Some of those poor lads didn't make it, understand?"

The second Dragon Hunter produced a large iron keyring from his belt. He selected one of a half dozen keys on it and put it into the lock of Harrow's cell door. The door clanged open ominously. The three Dragon Hunters filed into the cell and surrounded Harrow where he sat shackled into immobility on the floor. They stared down at his helpless form from under their spiked helms, their eyes cold and cruel and their smiles hard.

"See, some of those boys were our friends." The first Dragon Hunter was saying. "And, so we figured it only natural and fair that we even the score, now that you're disarmed and chained up. Isn't that right, lads?"

The second Dragon Hunter cracked his substantial knuckles loudly. "Yeah, payback time is now, coin-hound scum! You don't have any of your fancy toys or weapons to help you now!"

"Think yer so tough, eh?" The third Dragon Hunter sneered. "Well, let's see how tough you are after we beat the piss out of you!"

Sighing, Harrow glared up at them wearily. He knew there was very little he could do or say to prevent what was about to happen so he didn't even try. He could only hope to mitigate the damage. He tried very hard to relax himself. He remembered a fundamental rule: The more tense a body is when hit, the more damage is done as a result.

But, instincts are hard to override, so when the first kick caught him deep in the side, everything clenched up.

Another kick took him hard in the side of the head and made stars burst in his vision. Another was aimed at his ribs like it was supposed to break something and stole his breath for long seconds. He couldn't count the blows as they rained down on him from three directions in a waterfall of hard boots. His tormentors swore and laughed and hissed threats as they braced themselves against the walls or each other to gain more leverage.

The pain was _incredible_.

In some distant, purely intellectual part of his mind Harrow knew he had suffered some pretty substantial wounds even before he had woken up in this cell. Most had made themselves known as dull, throbbing aches on the edges of his misery. They had faded to just barely tolerable. He could probably have ignored them with time.

Now, each one flared to life anew. His whole body felt like it was aflame with agony, each nerve screaming. The beating went on for what seemed like forever, but it must have been only a couple of minutes. Just as Harrow felt on the edge of slipping into a pain-induced blackout, his body's only recourse to hide him from the onslaught, the three brutes eased to a stop.

"Alright, that's enough!" The first of them panted, out of breath. "Viggo wants him alive."

"Didn't say how alive, though, did he?"

"Heh. Nope!"

The other two Hunters delivered a few more half-hearted kicks before their more sensible companion had to physically pull them toward the open cell door. "C'mon, boys, we've had our fun. The boss will keelhaul us if we ruin his plans!"

"Bah! You sure know how to kill a mood!"

"C'mon, now, let us have another go at him!"

"I said NO, damn you! I let you lot have your fun, now let's get back topside." the first Dragon Hunt urged. "There'll be Hel to pay if we're missed."

Harrow felt more than heard them leave, his whole body now so sensitive that even the very movement of the air pained him. The door to the cell shutting felt like a thunderclap in his head.

"That's just a taste of what's to come, bounty hunter!" The lantern bearer promised as he turned to leave. "When the boss is finished with you, you're going to be dragon chow! Mark my words!"

They stomped off down the companionway and the bulkhead door slammed to. Harrow was left with the uneven sound of his ragged breathing and the rhythmic creaking of the ship's timbers with the waves. The pain slowly ebbed with each passing moment. He shivered as his muscles unwound themselves. He spat thin gobbets of bloody spittle out of a mouth that felt too loose, tested teeth that may have been cracked or chipped with his swollen tongue.

Never had he felt so wretched as he did now.

Harrow must have fallen asleep. Or maybe he passed out from the trauma. Either one was possible, he supposed to himself. His wake up call was the familiar sound of the bulkhead door slamming open again. He glanced at the porthole and saw that it was still dark, but the moon had disappeared.

The cell was cloaked in unrelieved darkness.

The light of a lantern grew steadily in the companionway. A new batch of Dragon Hunter guards were soon at the cell door. Instead of mocking him or jeering threats, they were all business this time, stony faced. One opened the door and stood aside wordlessly as the other two stomped inside. They grabbed his arms and, heedless of his injuries, yanked him to his feet in one smooth motion.

Harrow bit off a scream that turned into agonized grunt at the last moment. Unfazed, the two Hunter guards were strong enough to hold him up off the ground so they didn't have to unshackle his feet. He was carried out of the cell and down the companionway. The guards took him beyond the bulkhead door and into a larger hold lit by hanging lanterns.

There they passed much larger holding cells with reinforced iron bars and floors covered in scattered hay. The air smelled overwhelmingly of frightened dragons. The scent was like hot iron and old blood. It made Harrow's stomach churn.

Luckily, they plunged into another companionway, and the scents of damp and brine returned. They passed steep wooden stairs headed both up to the topdeck and further down into the bowels of the ship.

At the end of the companionway was a door flanked by Hunter guards. The door opened as they approached and a rich golden light spilled out into the dim hall. The change in illumination caused Harrow's good eye to water and sting. Blinded by incessant tears, he only felt their passage over the threshold and into the room beyond. Wherever he was, it was warmer and the air was more pleasant. Something, maybe incense, perfumed the air with the scent of flowers.

The guards dropped him without ceremony or warning onto his knees. Harrow groaned as his injured body dealt with its own weight again. Hot tears traced tender trails down his battered, bloody face. He paused, sensing the guards on either flank. Then he sensed two more presences in the room and blinked his eyes, good and bad, to try and clear them.

When his vision cleared a moment later he found himself in what he assumed to be the captain's cabin. A couple of ship's braziers held low-burning fires at the back of the room. The middle of the room was dominated by a large, heavy wooden table. On the table there was a map of the Meridian of Misery and a stack of papers, an inkwell, and a quill. He himself knelt on a decorative rug before the table.

The other two presences he had felt turned out to be two men, two brothers, if one went by their obvious familial resemblance. One was taller than the other, and heavily muscled. His head was shaved and he sported mustache and had trimmed his beard into a single neat line down the front of his chin. He wore a ragged chain cuirass and had a dragon bone pauldron over his right shoulder and bracers of the same at both forearms. He had two swords sheathed at his back. His face held a kind of blunt cruelty. He stood to the left of the table, his arms crossed over his broad chest, frowning deeply.

The other was shorter than the first by perhaps a head. He had short dark brown hair and a full goatee and mustache. He wore an exquisite plate cuirass and had a single ornate sword at his back in a sheath. His face echoed his supposed brother, but lacked the blunt cruelty.

Instead, a sinister intelligence made its home in every line of his countenance. His were the eyes that drank in each detail no matter how small for later use and let no advantage go unseen. He sat at a chair behind the table, resting his chin thoughtfully on one closed fist, his elbow propped on the table's edge. His other hand toyed with a game piece, a carved viking chief in full battle regalia.

"So," The seated brother spoke with a smooth refined voice, spinning the game piece with some dexterity in his thick fingers, "you must be the bounty hunter, the famous - or should it be said _infamous_ \- Harrow Gudmunson, that one they call Hel's Hound?"

"And you two must be the Brothers Grimborn. Which one of you is Viggo?"

"That would be me." The seated brother said, placing a hand on his chest with a theatrical smile. "There! Now, introductions are out of the way, we can move on to the matter at hand."

The man who called himself Viggo stood and walked around the table to stand at a arm's length away from where Harrow knelt. He leaned back against the heavy piece of furniture, game piece in hand, and pursed his lips.

"You know, I'm very disappointed in your level of... _professionalism_. I would have thought that a bounty hunter would jump at the chance to earn a princely reward such as the one I offered. But, what did you do? You savagely beat my envoy."

"Sorry. Turns out I _can_ refuse your offer."

"Hmm, yes, so you can indeed." Viggo murmured, unamused. His lips curled in a cold smile nevertheless. "Let us not waste time and mince words. Bringing you here was very costly. You managed to kill twelve of my men before they shot you with a soporific dart. But despite that unpleasantness, I will still offer you the contract. You see, there is no choice but to reconsider in these new circumstances."

"I'll give you the same answer that I gave your lackey. Which is a flat _no_ , in case you thought I changed my mind."

Viggo inclined his head and swapped the game piece from one hand to the other. "May I ask why you would choose to spurn my generous terms out of hand?"

"You want Hiccup Haddock the Third, Heir to the Chiefdom of Berk? Go get him yourself or send your flunkies. I don't want any trouble with Berk or its dragons." Harrow replied. "Oh, and by the way, your hospitality sucks."

"What's the matter, boy?" The taller Grimborn asked darkly from the side. "Didn't like the warm reception our men gave you, eh? Seems that you've made quite the impression."

Viggo cast a withering glare at his brother. "Ryker, enough."

"Had it coming, he did." Ryker persisted. "No one defies the Dragon Hunters - or the Grimborns!"

"True as that may be, my brother dear, you will kindly refrain from having our men use the esteemed bounty hunter as their personal whipping post." Viggo growled. "We don't want to cause undue harm if we want him in top fitness. He is a tool. A broken tool is useless to us. He has a job to perform, after all. We can not forget that. Do you understand, Ryker?"

Ryker grinned in a less than sincere fashion. "Of course, brother."

Viggo regarded Harrow once more with an expression that one may have called apologetic, maybe even reconciliatory. If you believed for a moment it was genuine.

"I must apologize on behalf of my brother and our men. They can be… heavy handed, at times."

The bounty hunter snorted and winced at the pain that action brought. "It had really more to do with their feet, but I guess I'll let it pass."

"How gracious of you." Viggo purred. Then, he stood and paced the space before the table. "So, allow me to summarize your argument. You will not accept my contract because you fear to entangle yourself with Berk or its dragons?"

"Let's not forget to mention that this Hiccup person is the son of Stoick the Vast." Harrow added, "Who just so happens to be very well known throughout the Archipelago and the Meridian for two things: his love of vengeance, and his love for his son. The son, by the way, which is the only family he has left in Midgard."

"I see." Viggo replied with a curt nod. "Obviously you are not prone to fits of recklessness. But then, I never thought you were." He started again to pace the space in front of the table, his hands clasped behind his back. "You see, Harrow, I am a player of games. At present, the game in which I find myself a player is one of wit and strategy. Knowledge is power in such a game, would you not agree?"

"Eh, I suppose."

Viggo went on as if he hadn't heard, or even expected an answer. "I know quite a bit about my primary opponent in this game. In fact, I've led Hiccup on quite a few merry chases these last few weeks. But, he is a formidable and worthy foe. For every blow I strike, he deals me a reversal elsewhere in return."

"Why in Thor's name are you telling me all of this?" Harrow asked with a long suffering sigh. "I really don't care! I'm not going to help you. Kill me if you are going to, or set me free if you're not."

"Aye, I'm for it." Ryker remarked from where he stood. "I've just had my blades sharpened. I've been meaning to test them, and your neck will do just fine."

Viggo grimaced in exasperation, and with effort chose to ignore his brother for the moment. He regarded the bounty hunter kneeling before him with mild annoyance.

"You didn't allow me to finish. That was very rude. I was saying my primary opponent in this game is Hiccup. However, the moment you refused my offer and assaulted my representative, I decided to put you on the board as well. Perhaps not as a primary opponent in the same category as Hiccup, but certainly as a person of interest. Someone who required more _investigation_."

"You're wasting your time." Harrow told him. "I already told you, I won't work or you. And I certainly won't play games with you, either."

"How strange. You seem so sure, so certain of yourself." Viggo mused, like he was reflecting on the fact and trying to see how it could possibly be true. His steady gaze was dispassionately analytical.

"The truth of the matter is that you are in no position to be so flippant with me. My men snatched you off Port Tempest, stripped you of your weapons and other gear, and shackled you to within an inch of your life. They beat you while you were utterly helpless, and it was only because I wished to have words with you, that they did not beat you unto death. Frankly, you are completely at my mercy, and still you resolve to defy me!" He chuckled in dark bemusement. "It really is quite remarkable."

"Well, if you went through all the trouble of coming to get me, I know you're not seriously going to kill me out of hand. That would be a waste." Harrow drawled, rolling his eye. "But, seriously, how many times can I say it? Listen, let's try this: there are dozens of other qualified bounty hunters back at Port Tempest. Sail back, drop me off, and take your pick of them. I'll even make recommendations. Nothing personal, right? I'll go my way and you go your way, and everyone is happy. We never have to meet again."

Viggo frowned, and stuck out a finger like a stern father about to take a cheeky child to task.

"Ah, but it _is_ personal now! You made it so, if I'm not mistaken. If I allow such casual defiance such as yours to go unchecked, others may decide to defy me as well. They will sense weakness in my inability to enforce my will. A rather dangerous precedent, don't you see? I can not abide it and hope to preserve my reputation. Disobedience demands consequence."

"Then we're at an impasse."

"So it would seem." Viggo agreed readily, unconcerned. "But, as I said, I have done some investigation about you. Even before I sent my envoy to that quaint little hole-in-the-wall you call a home to seek you out. I know that you are a man of singular tenacity. The say that you will go to any length to obtain your mark. A hound from Hel herself, I believe is where the name came from, yes? Well, I believe wholeheartedly that no torture I could devise or threat I could make against you, personally, could compel your service."

"Then you know already how pointless all this is."

"Notice that I qualified my previous statement. No torture or threat against you. _Personally_." Viggo's expression was conniving, devilish. A cold gleam of triumph lit his eyes. "But, I am dying to know what would happen if _someone else_ was at risk."

Dread gathered into a knot in the pit of Harrow's stomach, cold and hard. Viggo waved a hand at his brother. Ryker's mouth curled into a nasty smile as he opened a previously hidden smuggler's door in the cabin wall beside him.

There, shackled and gagged, sat a fearful and forlorn young woman. A very familiar young woman.

Signy.

Viggo smiled when he saw the expression of dumbfounded horror contort the bounty hunter's face. All traces of his stubbornness disappeared in that moment. Harrow's mouth worked but no words came.

Viggo looked like he was gloating. Oh, how magnificent it was when a plan came together!

"Do you see now, my dear Harrow? You really are in no position to bargain with me. Not when I have a suitable inducive on hand."

" _BASTARD!_ " Harrow bellowed at the top of his lungs, his face coloring with rage. He made to lunge at the older man despite being shackled hand and foot. The look on his face was nearly feral. Viggo idly wondered if the irate young man thought to tear out his throat with bare teeth alone. The guards on either flank quickly seized him and held him hard as he thrashed and fought, heedless of his bodily condition or his pain. He ached to violently wipe the smug smile right off Viggo's face with his bare hands. " _FILTHY WHORESON OF A SHIT EATING JOTUN BITCH!_ "

Unconcerned, Viggo merely quirked a dark eyebrow at the display of vulgarity before him. Then he slid a meaningful glance toward his brother.

Ryker must have known to expect the signal. He casually drew one of his swords and laid the razor edge just under Signy's soft pale throat. His stony face suggested an obvious ultimatum to the bounty hunter.

Harrow ceased struggling instantly, his breath coming heavily after his outburst. His guards shoved him back down on his knees. One cuffed him in the back of the head with a heavy fist.

Signy screamed, a shrill muffled sound from behind her gag. Her pretty heart-shaped face was splotchy with high emotion, her eyes red and swollen from having cried a great deal. She still wore her barmaid's dress and had her dark honey blonde hair up in a braid. They must have kidnapped her shortly after having subdued him, Harrow thought. Maybe right out of her room.

Ardyn must be worried sick, back at the Tipsy Scauldron.

He'd be righteously pissed off if he knew that Harrow was the reason why his foster daughter, the apple of his eye and the light of his life, was in mortal danger.

And Harrow wouldn't blame him. Not one bit.

"Now, I do believe we understand each other better." Viggo was saying in that damnably calm, patronizing tone of his. "Let's try this all over again, shall we?"

Harrow felt despair start to gnaw at his heart and mind. Exhaustion followed keenly after in waves and turned his limbs into numb lumps of lead. He hung his head and closed his eyes.

"I'll do what you want."

"I'm sorry, you'll have to be more specific." Viggo said, admiring the neatly filed nails on the fingers of one hand. "Oh, and do speak up. I wouldn't want a miscommunication to create difficulties at this delicate stage of _negotiations_. Remember, now another life hangs in the balance!"

"FINE!" Harrow snarled, now snapping a baleful glare up at Viggo as if he could kill him with his good eye alone. "I'll take the gods-damned contract! I'll bring you the gods-damned Dragon Conqueror!"

"Alive, if you please."

Harrow blinked at the request, how it was delivered so calmly. "Excuse me?"

"You will bring me Hiccup Haddock alive and in good health." Viggo clarified calmly. "Your usual style is to kill your marks, is it not?"

"It's easier that way!"

"Be that as it may, I cannot guarantee the ongoing health of this poor unfortunate girl unless you bring me my prize in perfect condition." Viggo replied sternly. "Do I make myself crystal clear?"

"And if I do bring you Hiccup Haddock, alive and kicking, you'll release Signy?"

"Of course!"

"How can I possibly dare to trust you?"

Viggo tutted quietly. "Come now, Harrow, I'm merely a businessman at heart. Not some bloodthirsty, crazed sociopath! While it is regrettable that I had to resort to these... crude, dare I say _distasteful_... means of persuasion, I would remind you that events could have proceeded in a vastly more civilized fashion if you had simply first cooperated with us. If anyone should be mistrustful in this situation, it should be me." He gestured to where Signy sat, watching with sullen trepidation. "Hence the inducive."

Harrow knew in his heart that he could not trust this man. He recognized the tactic for what it was, a well executed performance of moral gymnastics on Viggo's part to paint himself as the wounded party. To claim the high ground. To beat one's breast and loudly proclaim _Lo and behold, I have been wronged!_

It allowed one to be as vindictive and ruthless as one wished in pursuit of satisfaction. That level of mental manipulation was commonplace in the underworld that bounty hunters navigated on a day to day basis. It was almost comforting, in a twisted sort of way, to deal with something so familiar.

Nevertheless, he was stuck fast. He had absolutely no bargaining power now. Ardyn would kill him if anything were to happen to Signy.

Asgard above, he had never wanted to involve her in any of these blood and dagger dealings, ever! He had always tried to isolate the damage to himself. It seemed that even by association he was trouble of the worst sort. He really shouldn't be surprised.

"So, now that we have put all our pieces on the board, what say you?" Viggo was asking at length, sitting back down behind the table. He steepled his fingers before him. "Do we have an accord?"

Harrow drew himself up as best he could on his knees and cast an appraising gaze on Signy. She met his gaze with her own: pleading, plaintive. She slowly, deliberately shook her head so that he could not mistake what she meant to tell him. _Don't do this, not for me. Please._

Her courage shamed him to his core.

For in that moment, he reconciled with this essential element of cowardice in his heart. He would gladly trade a stranger in exchange for her safety, no matter who that stranger was. Her safety had been laid in his hands the day Ardyn made him swear his oath. Signy must have sensed that he had come to a decision, whether by his expression or maybe his posture, he could not tell. She turned her gaze away from him.

Irrationally, it felt to him like a condemnation. But what could he do?

Angry, Harrow mentally shoved the unaccustomed pang of guilt away. If you caught feelings, you usually ended up catching a blade next.

He hardened his heart.

Then he met Viggo's dark gaze.

"I'm game."


	3. Setting the Scene, Part 1

Working for the Grimborns was not exactly what Harrow had expected. Sure, he had been forced into the current arrangement. And yes, his continued cooperation and goodwill was compelled by virtue of a threat against an innocent whose life was forfeit should he fail.

But, aside from the careful supervision of a pair of stone-faced guards who went everywhere he did, he was allowed to roam the flagship of the Dragon Hunter's fleet at will and was left grudgingly alone. Only Viggo and Ryker's personal cabins, the ship's armory, and the dragon hold were off limits. Unsurprisingly, he was allowed no further contact with Signy.

"You'll see the lovely young lady again only once you've handled your end of the deal, and not a moment before." Viggo had replied tersely, when asked. "Rest assured that she will remain unharmed and looked after in your absence."

 _Right._ That left Harrow plenty of time to recuperate from the ordeal of joining the Grimborns' service. The Dragon Hunter's head cook fed him bland hardtack and a thin watery gruel, and what passed as their senior healer treated the worst of his injuries. They even gave him a new change of clothes in the form of a plain grey tunic and beige trousers with a braided rope belt. They even allowed him to keep his own leather boots. His skin still prickled with dried sweat and blood, but at least he didn't completely look like a slave pit reject. Still, he felt incomplete without his fighting gear.

The six ships of the Dragon Hunter fleet sailed south and west. Viggo didn't hint at the fleet's ultimate destination or his present goals. He apparently believed strongly in keeping his plans close to the vest. Harrow wondered if even Ryker, who was always two steps behind his brother's right shoulder, knew exactly what the grand design was in the end.

When Viggo did deign to speak with Harrow, it was in the war room in which they had carried out their "negotiations" a couple of days ago.

Like right now, for instance. This being the second day since they had struck an accord. It was shortly before noon. Viggo sat across from the bounty hunter like nothing was amiss. As if he hadn't threatened Signy, as if Harrow wasn't fantasizing about gutting him like a fresh caught fish for his audacity, his sheer temerity. He acted as if they were merely business associates, client and contractor. It was strange, this lack of acknowledgement in what passed for the brief history between them.

There was an earthenware pitcher and a pair of cups on the table before them and Viggo indicated the drink service with a benign gesture. "Would you care for a refreshment before we begin?"

Expression neutral, Harrow sat back in his chair. "I'll pass."

"Suit yourself." Viggo poured himself a cup of watered ale. His eyes looked the young bounty hunter over appraisingly.

"May I say, you are healing quite nicely. I would suppose our hospitality has improved remarkably. Wondrous, is it not, what may be achieved through gainful cooperation?"

Harrow curled a lip in distaste. "You certainly do like to hear yourself speak. Let's not mess around. What's the plan, Viggo?"

Viggo quirked an eyebrow. "I had rather hoped you would enlighten me, actually."

"What?"

"Well, I assumed that you would welcome the opportunity to chart your own course, insofar as your plan of action was concerned." Viggo remarked off-handedly.

Harrow shrugged. "And I had expected that you would have guidelines or conditions for me. Well, besides the obvious one that you already mentioned."

"I did leave it somewhat open-ended, did I not?" Viggo agreed airily. He too sat back in his chair, mirroring Harrow's posture, one arm over the backrest. "I must confess, I had quite forgotten to mention a few little details when we last discussed our... _arrangement._ "

"I figured that would be the case."

"Yes, well, it occurred to me that if I let you go off on your own to go about kidnapping Hiccup Haddock, that you may take it into the wonderfully cunning mind of yours to delay the fulfillment of your obligations. Perhaps you would attempt to acquire assistance from some unsavory associates who, no doubt, owe you a favor. Or, perhaps, you would attempt to double-cross me by going to Hiccup yourself and explaining the situation."

Viggo paused to take a drink, then went on speaking. "I've no doubt that if you asked him for help, he and his friends would indeed aid you. He has _such_ a bleeding heart, does young Hiccup. It will be his undoing one day, of that I am quite certain."

Harrow narrowed his eyes at the older man. "And now comes the part where you're going to tell me now why I shouldn't try and do either of those things."

"It goes without saying, does it not?" Viggo replied with a smile. "It would be quite difficult, I should think, to double cross me for two reasons."

He leaned forward, all traces of his smile and supposed geniality gone, and held up his left index finger.

"One, I will give you two weeks to kidnap Hiccup and bring him to me, starting from the moment I set you free. I'm being generous with the allotment, because you will need time to find me again. I cannot ignore my other enterprises while you go about yours, you understand. There is much work to be done in restoring my organization to full strength in the Archipelago."

He added his left ring finger alongside the first.

"And two, if I hear so much as a _rumor_ that the Dragon Riders of Berk are doing anything but fruitlessly searching for their beloved leader, I will seriously consider the fact that you have decided to act outside the bounds of our agreement. At such time, I will dispose of that poor girl in my custody. The one who even now trusts that you will save her life."

Harrow swallowed, and found his throat had gone dry as a desert. "I understand."

"See that you do."

"How will I find you when I have done my end of the deal?"

"Surely you are familiar with the Northern Markets?" Viggo asked speculatively.

"I've been there once or twice before."

"Excellent. Just bring your captive there." Viggo explained with a dismissive flick of his fingers. "My men usually maintain a strong presence thereabouts. When you arrive, simply make contact with them, and they in turn will get word to me."

Harrow nodded, ticking off his fingers. "Grab Hiccup, escape Berk, make it to the Northern Markets. I think I can manage that."

"I have every confidence that you will." Viggo replied evenly. He drank off the last of the watered ale in his cup and set it down on the table. "I need not remind you of the price of failure."

"No." Harrow growled testily, clenching his hands into tight fists on his lap. The image of throttling the other man was vivid in his mind. His hands ached to act on that vision. "You don't. And I assume that Signy will be there for the exchange."

"Exchange...?"

"I'm sorry, did I stutter?."

With a flash of pique, Viggo looked ready to argue the matter for a brief moment. Then his lips curved in an indulgent smirk, and he gave a dismissive shrug as he sat back in his seat. "Very well, I suppose that is only fair. I shall have the girl on hand when I meet you at the Northern Markets. We'll exchange our respective prisoners, and then we'll part company."

"Never to see each other again." Harrow assured him coldly, his glare frosty.

Viggo merely smirked again at his impotent rage. "Never say never."

A few hours later, Viggo summoned Harrow up to the topdeck. Harrow squinted in the bright sunlight of the late afternoon. It was his first time above-decks since he had agreed to the deal. The sky was a brilliant blue and not a single cloud could be seen. The sea was calm. The other five ships of the fleet were arrayed around the flagship, two ahead, two on either flank, and one following behind in the formation's wake. The air was brisk, but not as cold as it had been further to the northeast around Port Tempest. He surmised that the Dragon Hunters had come far to the south and out of familiar waters. The guards posted at his shoulders gave him a shove and pointed to the starboard side of the vessel.

"Over there." the Hunter guard helpfully grunted. "Move it!"

Harrow headed in the direction indicated. He checked the unwise urge to break the necks of the two Dragon Hunters who shadowed his steps. They had made no attempt to hide their animosity while on their assignment to keep him out of trouble. He made a mental note to remember them. He owed them.

Viggo and Ryker waited at the starboard rail of the flagship. They turned to regard Harrow as he and his escort approached.

"Are you ready to begin your endeavors?" Viggo asked.

"As ready as ever, I suppose."

"Splendid! Now, as you're likely unaware, we're presently sailing in waters frequented by fishing ships and trade vessels making their way to Berk. It shouldn't be too long before one or the other happen by. Or, perhaps a dragon rider patrol will catch sight of us. So, we mustn't linger long." Viggo explained, then turned and pointed down at the gently rolling waves. "And there is your ship."

Actually, what Viggo was pointing at was more of a small boat. A dinghy, really. It had a single mast, a sail that was presently furled and a small sheltered area at the stern which was shielded by a canvas tarp tied to a wooden frame. The hull looked as if it had been patched many times in the past. It rode the sea close at hand to the flagship, secured by a thick mooring rope.

Harrow gazed on it with a critical eye. "It doesn't look very well provisioned. Or safe."

"Well, we couldn't very well give you too much. Or a vessel in too good a state of repair. It wouldn't sell the picture of a shipwreck survivor if he had all the supplies he wanted and a vessel wholly seaworthy, now would it?"

"Shipwreck… survivor?" Harrow repeated slowly, sure he hadn't heard right. Dread and confusion coiled in his stomach like a familiar indigestion. Was this part of Viggo's plan, too?

"Just so." Viggo confirmed crisply. "How else are you going to plant the seeds of pity in the noble hearts of the people of Berk? Just think on it a moment. It's plausible, given the capricious whims of the sea. It's relatable, as there are many Berkians who have lost loved ones to the watery depths. Pity will disarm them, and your winning personality will no doubt lead to trust. Trust will allow you the opportunity you need."

Ryker laughed. "Bunch of soft weaklings that they are, they won't ever suspect a thing."

"Really, it's the perfect cover story." Viggo went on to say.

Harrow was uneasy about all of this. But, he knew that there was likely nothing to be done about changing it. Control of the situation had already slipped well out his hands. He rolled his shoulders and looked down at the sad little boat below.

"Alright, then. Nothing else for it." he said. "How do I get down there? Is there a rope ladder or a net I could use to climb down?"

"I'm afraid not." Viggo informed him with mock regret. "For the sake expediency, we have an alternative."

Standing to the side, Ryker cracked his knuckles and smiled quite broadly.

Harrow only had time enough to begin to frame a shout of protest before the big man grabbed him in a grip like iron, hoisted him with a grunt up over the rail, and threw him over the side like a bale of hay.

Harrow hit the water head first. The shock of the impact, followed by an icy rush as the water closed back over him, stunned him and before he could stop himself he gasped. He took a great mouthful of water down into his lungs and he panicked as he choked. His muscles spasmed as he flailed to find the surface.

A moment later he breached, spluttering and coughing. The little boat bobbed nearby. He swam for its dubious safety to the jeers and raucous laughter of the Dragon Hunter crew, Ryker loudest of them all.

Panting with the exertion of having just avoided being drowned, Harrow pulled himself from the cold water and stood dripping on the deck of his own pitiful craft.

"You could have given me some warning next time!"

"Where would the fun in that be?" Viggo replied snidely. He threw a mock salute. "We must bid farewell to you for now, Harrow Gudmunson. I expect to see you in two week's time with our guest of honor. I wish you the best of luck!"

Ryker gave a hand signal to the crewmen who stood near the mooring rope. They pulled the knot that held the rope in place and it slid noiselessly off the deck and dropped into the water with nary a splash.

The flagship of the Dragon Hunter fleet quickly pulled away, that vessel's sails swelling and snapping in the wind. Harrow stood on the deck of the small boat that had been left to him and shivered. He watched the fleet and the ship that held Signy captive dwindle down into a group of black dots on the horizon, before disappearing altogether from sight.

Then he was alone with nothing but the creaking of the little boat's patched hull and the lapping of the water at his keel.

"Hel's fucking teeth!" he cursed softly to himself with feeling. " _Now_ what do I do?"


	4. Setting the Scene, Part 2

Harrow was no stranger to watercraft. Having lived the last ten years of his young life in Port Tempest, he had grown accustomed to ships of all sizes and was at least basically proficient on how to work the rigging and the rudder.

However, the little boat that the Dragon Hunters had left him was no prize. His first action had been to see if he could get the sail unfurled. The rigging for the sail was tied into some sailor's arcane knot and stubbornly resisted his advances. Knots, it had to be knots. He spent probably a half hour cursing all the gods he could think of and swearing ever more creatively worded oaths as he tried to unravel the labyrinthine arrangement. He nearly cried for joy when he finally sussed out the last turn of the rope. His heart swelled with elation as the sail dropped into position from the yardarm.

And then his spirits crashed, and he gave vent to an incoherent cry of frustration and rage. The sails were lousy with rips and would never catch the wind and hold it. It looked like someone had put a cloth net up in place of a proper canvas sail.

Dismayed, Harrow retreated to the little shelter at the stern of the boat after that. He had felt the beginnings of a sunburn while he had struggled with the rigging and sail. While not a serious threat, it would mean that he was losing water. The supplies left to him by the Dragon Hunters included a small oilcloth packet of dried meat and hardtack, enough for a day or two if rationed carefully. A barrel lashed to the deck under the pavilion held water and came equipped with a short wooden drinking ladle. That was his only saving grace. He'd stretch the food as long as he could. He didn't mind being on the edge of hunger. Dying of thirst had been a real concern, however. At least for the moment he wouldn't need to worry.

Still it didn't mean much if he couldn't get the boat moving with some purpose. At the moment, the gentle rocking of the waves was the only motion he could feel. He knew that he was drifting, though, and wished fervently that he had paid more attention to the old seafarer's charts on sea currents at the Tipsy Scauldron. He hoped that Viggo had been right in his estimation that some boat or dragon rider patrol would happen by. Otherwise, his mission was over before it really began, and Signy was as good as dead.

Tired, disheartened and feeling a touch light-headed, Harrow sat down with his back to the port-side gunwale. He took a little of the food from the packet and slowly gnawed on it to appease his grumbling stomach and stave off the weakness he felt. The back and forth of the boat was oddly soothing, he realized. He found his eyelids had grown heavy. A drowsiness was suddenly upon him. He fell asleep with a bit of jerky in his mouth.

When he woke up, the sun was setting on the western horizon. The sky was painted a brilliant array of violets, reds, oranges and gold where it was sinking into the sea. The stars were already beginning to show themselves in the sky to the east. Harrow stood and stretched, felt muscles protest from the awkward position he had been sitting in. He looked down and saw a half-eaten piece of jerky on the deck at his feet. Mind fuzzy, he remembered about the packet of food and found it where he had left it, half unwrapped. Absentmindedly, he picked up the leftover bit of jerky and popped it in his mouth as he secured his meager foodstuffs.

Waste not, want not, right?

He took a small drink from the lukewarm water barrel. Then he stood and contemplated his options again. Small boat with little supply, no useful sails, no charts, and no other practical way to figure out which direction he should go in.

That about summed it all up. He sighed.

Then a thought occurred to him. What about a set of oars? He faintly remembered that small boats like these often had a set of oars, a back-up in case of fouled sails. He gave the little vessel a thorough search and was gratified, no - _astounded_ \- to find that which he sought. A pair of oars with worn handles had been stowed at the front underneath a low bench.

"Thank Thor, Odin, and all the gods of Asgard." Harrow muttered to himself, relieved. He gave half a thought to offering sacrifices when next he got to dry land again. He had never been a very devout person before, and in fact invoked more curses by the gods than he gave thanks to them, but maybe he ought to change that.

There were sockets for the oars on either side of the bench, he found. He sat down on the bench and fitted the oars into the sockets and tried to row. It all worked as he expected. But as he sat on the bench and worked the oars, he realized he had a bit of a problem. He was alone on the boat. There really ought have been two people, one rowing while the other steered with the tiller.

He groaned. He could row to his heart's content, but he could be going in circles for all he knew. He needed to figure out a way to steer and row at the same time to make any sort of headway. And, he really needed to figure out which direction to go in.

He looked back up at the sky. Thanks to it being dusk, he knew west from east. He did a little bit of orientating and deduced south from north in short order. Which was great and all, except which direction was Berk supposed to lie?

First things first, he looked over the boat and thought about how to utilize the tiller while he rowed. He had rope that he could re-purpose from the rigging, since the sails were garbage anyway. He worked for a while to take a line of rigging down, pulling it from the yardarm since he didn't feel like trying to climb up the mast. Rope in hand, he stood and looked between the rower's bench and the tiller, back and forth.

After a few moments, he shrugged helplessly. He guessed he'd tie one end of the rope to the the tiller and hold the other end while he sat on the bench. He'd pull the tiller in the direction he wanted, tie it off, row, and adjust as necessary. He wouldn't be able to make quick course corrections but at least he'd be able to hold to a bearing.

Maybe. Possibly.

If Harrow was honest with himself, he thought it was a damned foolish idea. He'd be wasting his energy for nothing if he was wrong. But, he didn't have another choice. And, he would not simply sit around and hope that someone happened by to rescue him.

No, the gods helped those who helped themselves.

Or so Ardyn had always told him. Harrow hoped that it was true and not simply a nice platitude.

So, he set the tiller by the rope, tied it off, and began to row. When he was satisfied that he had the boat pointed in a roughly southerly heading, he adjusted and tied the tiller again. It was hard to tell if he was really moving or not. And rowing was not at all easy work. He felt the muscles of his arms and shoulders burn with the effort. His stomach growled again and thirst parched his throat. He kept up the rowing for a while, pausing now and again to rest his weary arms.

With the sun fully set and below the horizon now, he looked to the sky to look for the lodestar. He found it and confirmed he was still headed south, more or less. He kept rowing.

Existence was rowing. He blanked his mind and focused on keeping his arms in motion. When that didn't work, he thought of all the ways he could torture Viggo. That cheered him some but also left a nagging sense of impotence. He thought it would be a Asgard-sent miracle if he were ever to find himself in a position to deliver such a richly deserved reward to so richly deserving of a man. Knowing how reality actually worked out, he'd be lucky to save Signy, much less slake his desire for vengeance.

Harrow became lost in his thoughts for a long time. Thoughts of past bounty work collided with the recollections of happier times at the Tipsy Scauldron. He tried not to think of the Scauldron, but found that his idle mind kept returning to certain memories.

Like the time he had actually drank to excess at the Scauldron's bar one night. He dimly remembered having barely survived a job gone bad, having to fight his way out of a trap set by a wily bounty. Blades had been raised against him on all sides. One of the few times in his bounty hunting career that he had not held the unshakable conviction that he would come out alive, if he was at all honest with himself. When he had won free and returned to the tavern, all he had wanted to do was to drown the very real feeling of impending mortality under as much wine as he could stomach. He remembered being particularly obnoxious, singularly unpersonable.

Ardyn had known not to try and engage him in talk. The rest of the patrons, at least the regulars, knew also to keep their distance and to not stir up trouble.

Signy, of course, didn't quite see the telltales the same way. Everyone else interpreted them like a Deadly Nadder with it's quills up. She decided it must have been a particularly inept call for _help_. She wanted to talk him through what he was _feeling_.

Harrow, most emphatically, did _not_ want to analyse what had happened. Or nearly happened, thank the gods. He had just wanted the sweet oblivion that only drink can provide. He had only wanted to forget that horrible cold feeling that grips a man's heart and spine when you have caught the fell gaze of death.

He'd said things to Signy that night, that upon reflection, he now sorely regretted. He had always kept his venom in check around her, as a favor to Ardyn. But, rattled and afraid as he was, he couldn't stop himself from venting his worst.

Appalled, Signy had told him quite eloquently to go to Hel and left him in a huff. Ardyn had given him a tongue-lashing, the worst that Harrow could remember. None of that had mattered at the time, so long as the wine kept flowing. Then he had finally crashed, slumped forward on the counter with an arm outstretched, a glass held in a deathgrip, face mashed against the smooth wood. Dead to the world of men and all who lived in it.

Just as he wanted.

Early the following morning, he woke. Disoriented and with a monstrous headache, he found blearily that someone had draped a blanket around his hunched shoulders. The common room of the Scauldron could be drafty and cold once the tavern had shut down for the night. At first, Harrow had assumed that Ardyn had taken pity on him, despite his particularly unsavory behavior and barbed words the night before.

Then he caught sight of _which_ blanket he had over his shoulders. It was a fine wool blanket with the edges decorated in little roses and songbirds. A light floral perfume suffused the article despite how often it had been washed. Harrow was befuddled, utterly flummoxed.

It was _Signy's_ blanket. Straight off her own bed, no less. His mind, running as fast as treacle in a snow storm going uphill, could not process the reason why she would take the best blanket off of _her own bed_ and gift it to him in such a way. It made feelings wriggle in his chest, guilt and embarrassment foremost.

But rather than pull those feelings out of the shadows to confront them, he instead stood up a trifle unsteadily and made his way to his own little room on the second floor. He slept until late noon the following day, not having arranged to take other jobs right away. He remembered barely being able to look Signy in the face when he did make an appearance in the common room. She had merely looked on his haggard countenance, a placid look that conveyed simple compassion, and smiled gently.

Gods in Asgard, how he had felt like a wretch then!

Back in the present, Harrow ceased his rowing. His arms felt like someone had tied iron weights to them and his shoulders protested at every little move. He reckoned he needed a break and couldn't exactly reckon for how long he had kept at it. He moved to the back of the little boat and sat with his back once again against the hull, the tiller just over his head. He ate a little food out of the scant supply packet, drank a little water, and then spent some time looking out over the sea.

A cool wind blew out of the northeast. The sun had begun to set again in the west, night fast on it's heels. The scenery had not otherwise changed much. Blue water stretching endlessly to blue sky, both now painted gloriously by the dying sun. He realized with a shock that he had spent much of the day in reverie. He may have even made progress in getting to Berk. He hoped fervently that he had. He curled himself up at the bottom of the boat and decided he'd try and sleep. Instead, what he got was uneasy dreams dredged up by the echoes of unwelcome memories.

Harrow awoke on the fourth day of his adventure rather suddenly. He had been having a nightmare of drowning when the rather vivid sensation of cold dampness had jolted him straight out of sleep. He bolted upright, slammed his head against the tiller, and found himself sitting in a couple inches of seawater on the bottom of his little boat.

"Loki's sagging _balls_!" he bellowed, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his head. He frantically searched the inside of the hull for the leak and saw that one of the patches had torn. A slow but insistent trickle of seawater was being pushed into the boat with every swell. It probably had been slowly filling throughout the night while he slept.

"Gods, I know not what I have done to offend thee," Harrow muttered under his breath, sloshing forward, "but kindly piss off!"

Thinking quickly, he tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of his tunic and stuffed the wadded material into the hole. It was as terrible a patch-job as he had ever seen. But it worked in reducing the flow of water into the bottom of the boat. He had to figure out a way to bail the little pool he was left with. It wouldn't change how the boat sat in the water much but it would make sleeping absolutely miserable. He glared up at the sky and found that it was still early. The sun wasn't up over the eastern horizon but it's growing glow brightened that horizon.

Harrow found that he didn't have anything that could be used for baling. He resigned himself to sleeping in the water when nightfall came next. That is, if by then he was still afloat. Now that one patch had failed he was suspicious of all the others. He surmised unhappily that it was probably only a matter of time before the others gave way.

He decided to try rowing again and hoped against hope that the patches would indeed hold. He resisted the sudden impulse to despair. He stubbornly held to the belief that he would make it if he just kept moving forward.

The sun rose over the horizon and bathed the sea in the pink light of a brand new day not long after. Harrow rowed on to the south despite the muscles of his arms screaming and his damp feet going numb with the cold. He was hungry again, not surprisingly, but refrained from eating the rest of his rations. The pangs in his stomach didn't so much add to his misery as it did provide a welcome focus to his mind over his other concerns.

Mid morning came on and Harrow couldn't help but take a break. It was a good thing that he did, as he noticed that the level of the water in the boat's bottom had risen while he hadn't been paying attention. He was now up to his shins in frigid seawater. He looked to the hole that he had plugged with a scrap of his threadbare tunic and saw that the scrap had fallen out, likely out into the water since it wasn't floating on the bottom of the boat. What's more, a patch on the opposite was also beginning to leak.

"Oh, just the way I wanted my day to go…" Harrow growled. He stood up, tore a couple more strips from the ragged edge of his tunic, and tried to plug the leaks again. The cloth plugs were ill-fitting and water wept around them regardless. He stood up and clutched his head in his hands, trying to calm the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He blinked, not sure he could believe his eyes as something caught his attention a long, long bow-shot away on the gently undulating surface of the sea.

There was a boat. A fishing boat, to be exact, judging by the nets hanging over the side. Harrow wondered how he had failed to notice the boat before. He wrote it off to his less than exemplary condition, what with the lack of restful sleep and proper nutrition. He looked and saw that the distant sail bore an emblem. It looked like a caricature of a bearded man, grimacing it what he guessed was supposed to be discomfort or menace. He couldn't be sure of which.

And, it looked like there were two crew members on the boat. Harrow recognized his opportunity a scant second after he registered that there were other people within shouting distance.

He ran to the rowing bench, hurriedly fiddling with the tiller rope, hoping that he could get the boat turned around in time. He rowed like mad, disregarding the water filling his little boat or the pain that was trying to tell him that his arms were about to fall off any moment.

He made a second hurried adjustment with the tiller rope, craning his neck around to see if he had lined up his prow properly. The other boat was now dead ahead, straight as she bears. He set to the oars again with a will, grunting and sweating through the pain. After a few moments he thought he could hear distant voices carried on the wind and his heart leapt into his mouth.

"HEY! HEY, OVER HERE!" Harrow shouted as loud as he could, so loud that his voice cracked with the strain. "OVER HERE!"

He didn't know if he had closed the distance any or if the crew of the other ship could even hear him over the sighing of the wind or the endless murmur of the waves. But he was awfully close to rescue and so he gave it all he had left.

The water level in the boat now was at his knees. He could feel the little vessel begin to wallow in the sea, the change of its buoyancy. It wouldn't be long before the water was coming over the top of the sides as well as through the holes in the hull.

Harrow craned his neck around again and saw that the other boat had pulled up it's nets. The two crewmembers didn't seem to be in a rush as they adjusted the rigging of their sail. He watched, gape-mouthed, as they began to sail not towards him, but away.

"NO! NO, OVER HERE!" he hoarsely cried, recklessly abandoning his rowing to stand and face in the direction of the other boat. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted till it hurt. "YOU GODS DAMNED MUTTONHEADS! OVER HERE!"

Nevertheless, the other boat kept going. Harrow felt the strength leave his legs. He found himself kneeling in the water that was flooding his one piece of safety. He panted, throat sore, and closed his eyes so he couldn't see his last chance at salvation drift away.

"Well, didn't think I'd die like this." he rasped to himself. "The gods damn the Dragon Hunters and Viggo to Hel."

Then, he leaned his aching arms on the rower's bench and laid his head down and tried not to cry.

"Hallo, there!" a gruff masculine voice called, somewhat distantly.

Harrow froze, then slowly raised his head off his arms. He blinked, not quite sure if this was some final jest by the gods who had so tormented him.

The fishing boat with the constipated face on its sail had tacked back in his direction. There were two Viking men onboard, the crew he had glimpsed from afar, and the shorter and broader of the two, a brown haired man with a helmet sporting four yak-horns and a shaggy beard, was hailing him. "Ahoy, I say!"

Harrow heard the taller, thinner man, a blonde with what looked incongruously like a common metal bucket on his head, say, "Look, Mulch! There's a nice looking lad on that boat! Is he one of ours?"

"How am I supposed to know?" the man called Mulch groused, "I don't know him from Thor!"

Harrow barked a laugh. He couldn't believe it! They had heard him after all!

"Do you need some assistance, lad?" Mulch asked as the two boats drifted within mere yards of one another. "Looks like you've had a rough time of it, I'd say!"

"Yes, please, I've been trapped out here with a ruined sail, little food or water, and just his morning my boat started to leak." Harrow explained, his words coming like a rush in his elation and relief.

"Say no more, laddie!" Mulch replied, waving with the hook that served as his left hand. "Jump across if you can! It doesn't look like that boat is long for Midgard. Hurry now, or we'll need to fish you out of the drink!"

Harrow didn't need to be told twice. He jumped the short gap, and felt for all the world like that simple action had drained him of his last reserves of strength. He landed in a heap on the other boat, practically at Mulch's booted feet. Behind him, the boat that Viggo had left him began to capsize and sink.

"Oh, the gods bless you and keep you forever!" Harrow sighed, "I don't think I can thank you enough!"

Mulch dropped his beefy good hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Aye, the gods must surely be watching out for you! If we hadn't come along when we did, you'd be following that poor old girl down to the bottom."

"Mulch, are boats supposed to do that?" the other man asked in a vapid tone. Harrow looked on him with the gimlet gaze, wondered what was wrong with this other man. He had a distant, unfocused glimmer in his blue eyes.

"No, Bucket, they most certainly aren't." Mulch replied patiently, like a parent with a dim but well meaning child. "But hey, let's get this tub moving! We'll get you some cheese at the Great Hall when we get back to Berk."

"Oh, I like cheese." Bucket placidly stated. He worked the rigging with one good hand and a hook for his right and Mulch went to go man the tiller.

"Take a seat, laddie." Mulch said pleasantly as they got under way. "A stiff wind would sweep you overboard, looks to me! How long were you drifting about on that old derelict?"

"Two days, maybe three." Harrow told him a trifle uncertainly. "They tend to blend together after a while."

"That they do, laddie." Mulch agreed sympathetically. "May I ask what happened to leave you in such a dire predicament?"

"Shipwrecked. I… I didn't see any other survivors."

Mulch sighed. "You have my condolences, lad. Did you know any of your former shipmates well?"

"No. I, um, had only just managed to get a berth onboard." Harrow lied again, finding it easy to build on the fiction. He just had to remind himself to keep things simple and vague. "They didn't seem to be a friendly bunch, so I kept to myself. I wasn't picky about the kind of crew I joined up with. I was hoping to work for passage, maybe to find someplace better to settle down."

"Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?"

"The Songless Isles, on the edge of the Meridian. A village called Discord."

"Can't say I've ever heard of it." Mulch remarked, his brow furrowing. "Is it far?"

"It's far, far to the north east."

"Hmm, going to have to look it up on a map." Mulch mused to himself. But then he gave Harrow a gap-toothed smile. "Ah, but you didn't just barely survive a watery grave to have me interrogate you!"

"No, it's fine." Harrow replied. "I'm actually surprised you aren't more wary, if anything."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I could be a pirate for all you know!"

At that, Mulch laughed. Bucket laughed, too, but Harrow had a suspicious feeling it was only because he didn't want to feel as if he had missed out on a punchline to a good joke.

"Lad, take no offense, but you look as dangerous as a wee newborn lamb!" Mulch said at length, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "You look but a step or two from Hel's gate, if you don't mind me saying."

Harrow looked down at himself. He still sported the fading reminders of the beating he had received at the hands of Viggo's men and it looked like had lost some weight.

"Huh. I guess you're not wrong."

"Not to worry, lad. We'll get you to Berk, safe and sound!" Mulch told him cheerfully. He cast a critical eye over Harrow's thin form and added, "And, a few solid meals couldn't hurt, either."

They sailed for a few hours in companionable silence, only broken when Bucket would ask some inane question and Mulch would patiently reply.

"What's wrong with him?" Harrow softly asked Mulch at length, when Bucket had gone to the prow on some shipboard errand. "Was he born simple?"

"Who, Bucket?" Mulch asked, a tad unnecessarily. "Nah, he weren't born simple. See, back on Berk we used to fight dragons pretty much all the time. They'd raid us for our livestock and grain and other foodstuff. Made life a right mess, I tell you! Anyway, Bucket was fighting off the scaly bastards during one raid when a dragon cracked his skull with it's tail bludgeon."

Harrow winced.

Mulch nodded at the young man's reaction. "Aye, as bad as it sounds. Our village healer Gothi did what she could for him but he's never been the same, since."

"And the bucket on his head?"

"A form of head protection, lad. His skull couldn't take another hard bump. It'd kill him."

"I see. I'm sorry that I brought it up."

"No harm done, laddie." Mulch replied. Then he snapped his fingers. "Thor blast me, I never asked your name!"

"Harrow is what they called me when I was born."

"Harrow…" Mulch repeated thoughtfully, as if tasting the word. "A good troll-name, if ever there was one."

"Pardon?"

"A troll-name! Children are given horrible names to ward off trolls from snatching them up from their cradles, or so it is said. Do they not have that tradition in Discord?"

"No, can't say that I've ever heard of it. My name… well, I guess you could say it's a family tradition."

"Ah, well, I guess that's to be expected, being so far away and all." Mulch opined airily. He took a closer look at Harrow' face a moment later. "Say, that's a nasty scar, lad. Did you get it fighting a dragon?"

Harrow put a hand to his false eye. "This? No, not fighting a dragon. I did get it in a fight, though." He frowned, not expecting the question and lacking a good fiction, looked out over the waves that rushed by. "I don't like talking about it. Bad memories."

"Sorry, lad, didn't mean to pry. I was just curious." Mulch replied. He shrugged. "Well, you'll fit in just fine in Berk. A lot of us are missing a limb or two from the bad old days, so I'm sure no one will bat an eye at a… uh, well, a missing eye."

Harrow couldn't help but crack a little smirk.

"Anyhow, we don't do much dragon fighting anymore on Berk, as a rule." Mulch went on to say, warming to the subject. He seemed to chatter to kill the time, or maybe he was just happy to speak to someone who could follow along on the same level. "Not since Stoick's boy forged the Dragon Peace. Now, we lead a pretty peaceful life with dragons, all things considered. Can't walk two steps in the village without bumping into a Gronkle or a Terrible Terror getting under foot! In fact, you could say that the Dragon Peace has made Berk one of the safest islands to live on in the Archipelago. Maybe even in the whole Meridian!"

"Stoick's boy? Stoick the Vast? You're talking about the Dragon Conqueror, right?"

"Dragon Conqueror, eh? Is that what they're calling him out in yonder parts?"

Harrow shrugged diffidently. "I guess so. That's what the skalds say in Discord. Some of them have started to compose sagas, and they use that title the most often. What's the problem with that?"

"Ah, well, nothing so much as I don't suppose if that is accurate to say." Mulch explained. "Hiccup didn't so much as _conquer_ the dragons as he did _befriend_ them. I don't think that boy could conquer much of anything, myself. He's not at all got the thirst for it."

"Really? That's sounds… unconventional. For a Viking, I mean."

"Aye, very unconventional." Mulch agreed with a dry laugh. "But then again, that boy has been anything but the typical Viking! Oh, Thor, the stories I could tell you…"

He paused, squinted and looked ahead. The sun was high in the sky, just past the noon zenith and sliding toward evening. On the horizon an island was just coming into view. Mulch smiled warmly at the sight.

"Well, lad, the stories will have to wait." the big fisherman said. "Berk's just ahead, and we'll be there by dusk, nightfall by the very latest."

"I'll be glad to be on dry land again." Harrow remarked, maybe the first thing he said with wholehearted honesty so far during their conversations.

"And if I ever get on a boat again, it'll be too soon!"


	5. Welcome to Berk, Part 1

**Hello again, dear readers! To those who have read this far, thank you for your time and interest. To my singular reviewer so far, nagajewel, I appreciate your kind sentiments. I hope you all are enjoying the ride so far! If you were wondering when more of the actual characters you're used to would figure into the story, I'll say that from here on out they figure quite strongly. Just remember most things are witnessed from the viewpoint of Harrow, unless he's incapacitated or otherwise not around. I do include perspective shifts when that does happen, or when it would be useful to the story to see events from another character's viewpoint.**

 **And so, the story rolls on...**

 **StratX8**

* * *

Mulch was true to his word. As the last rays of light slipped over the western horizon and late evening turned to early night, the island of Berk loomed close.

"Take a look see, laddie." Mulch told Harrow, pointing with his hook. "There, at the mouth of the harbor, stand the ancestral guardians of the Hairy Hooligan tribe of Berk."

Harrow's eye followed Mulch's outstretched arm and saw a pair of huge stone-carven Vikings rising up from the sea. Their features were stylized and recalled the design emblazoned on the sail over their very ship. Each effigy bore a carven sword and shield and wore horned helmets on their conical heads. Great bonfires burned within their open, grimacing mouths and likely served as the beacons for ships searching for the harbor's entrance. Time had worn the features of the guardians into obscurity and erosion had diminished their stature, but nevertheless their blind yet watchful gaze made Harrow shiver despite himself.

Beyond the harbor guardians the Isle of Berk rose from the sea, a lush and verdant island of forbidding sea-cliffs, rolling slopes and soaring peaks. Forests marched away inland in the distance and smaller clusters of trees dotted the tiered shelves and escarpments of the higher elevations. The village, or maybe township was more apt a description, of Berk sat on a hill above the harbor itself.

Every part of the settlement, from the wharfs and jetties of the docks right up to the village itself, was spotted with pinpoints of torchlight or lanterns. Dark winged shapes wheeled periodically overhead, some headed inland and others searching for a rooftop roost. The distant sounds of a Viking village wafted down with a southerly breeze, punctuated with the homing calls of dragons.

"So, this is Berk." Harrow breathed, rapt with awe. "Isle of Dragons and Vikings, just like the stories say…"

"Aye, isn't it grand?" Mulch replied proudly. "Home, sweet home! I said it before, and I'll say it again - the gods truly blessed you with their favor, lad. This is by far the best place that you could have ended up in."

"Okay, Mulch, time to tie up!" Bucket called. He was pointing to an empty berth toward the far end of the docks.

"Right you are, Bucket!" Mulch replied. To Harrow, he said, "Sit tight, lad, we'll get ourselves secured and then we'll head ashore, up to the village."

Harrow nodded. "I'll stay out of your way."

Mulch gave him a strong pat on the back with his good hand before hustling about with Bucket, working the rigging and the tiller to guide the fishing ship over to the docks. They worked quickly and efficiently, with long-practiced ease, and before too long the fishing ship was lashed up to the pilings of Berk's dock, just another mast in a forest of ships. A couple of burly dock workers trotted down the wharf with a gangplank on their shoulders.

"Oi, Mulch! Bucket!" one of them, a big bruiser with plaited black hair, called with a broad grin, "Good to see that you managed to find your way back to Berk!"

"Hi Harald!" Bucket chirped, waving with a grin. "Did you miss us?"

"Nah, he didn't miss us, Bucket." Mulch was saying. "He only missed our coppers when he's broke or has run his tab too high at the Mead Hall. Isn't that right, Harald?"

The man called Harald grinned, flashing a golden tooth. "You are much too cynical for your own good, Mulch. Can't a man rejoice at simply seeing his fellow seamen?"

"A man could, but I've never known you to be."

Harald laughed and Bucket joined in, again not quite understanding what was so funny but trying hard to seem like he was following along.

"Ah, a long day at sea hasn't affected your wit, I see. So, what did you manage to catch on this run? Salmon? Talbot?"

Bucket patted the large heap of fish still neatly bundled in their nets toward the prow. "Mackerel, Harald!"

"Aye, Mackerel mostly." Mulch agreed. "Some cod mixed in, too. But that's not all we fished out of the water, eh Bucket?"

"Nope!"

Harald crossed his arms over his barrel chest and frowned. "What are you on about, Mulch? Come on, it's nearly time to call it quits and we still have to unload your haul!"

Mulch motioned for Harrow to stand up. When he did, Harald's eyes were drawn to him. He took a moment to survey the strange young men standing on the boat in the flickering torchlight.

"Great Odin's beard!" Harald cried. "Mulch! Who's this? A stowaway?"

"Harald, this poor lad is the sole survivor of a shipwreck." Mulch explained, gesturing with his hook. "But, he's the luckiest Viking I've ever seen. You should have seen the tub we found him in! No sail, a hull that was more patch than wood, moments away from sinking... Anyway, his name's Harrow."

Harrow simply raised a hand by way of greeting. "Well met."

"Aye, well met, indeed." Harald replied to him a touch distantly, then turned and addressed Mulch again. "No offense to the lad, and pardon me, but we really need to offload the catch."

Mulch nodded. "I know. But, it goes like this: Bucket and I need to bring this lad up to see the Chief, and maybe Gothi. He's had a rough time of it, as you can see. Maybe get some food-"

" _Definitely_ get some food!" Harrow cut in suddenly then blinked, simpered and added, "Sorry."

Mulch rolled his eyes and went on. "As I was saying, we got an important duty to perform. Why don't you and Knute go ahead and unload while we're gone?"

"Hold on a minute!" Knute, the second dock worker, growled. He was a squat bulldog of a Viking with a receding hairline, a cleft chin, and eyes that flashed like flint. "Shipwrecked boy or no, why are we the ones breaking our backs when it's _your_ boat and _your_ catch?"

"Because, as usual, we'll be paying for your drinks up at the Mead Hall." Mulch told them matter of factly.

Harald exchanged a look with Knute and replied with a shrug, "Aye, sounds fair to me."

The two dock workers heaved the gangplank into position. Bucket went ahead of Mulch and Harrow up onto the wharf. As soon as Harrow had stepped off the plank, Harald and Knute lumbered over to the fishing ship.

"Alright, Harrow my lad, follow us." Mulch said as he and Bucket started tromping along the uneven wood platform. "We'll take a wee little stroll through the center of the village on our way up to the Mead Hall, see if the Chief is there. Then we'll see about some dinner. How does that sound to you?"

"Sounds good!" Harrow replied, trailing close behind the two older men. "I'm right behind you."

That _wee little stroll_ turned out to be longer than anticipated for Harrow. The docks of the harbor were not at the same level as the rest of Berk, and in order to get up to the village one had to navigate a maze of wharfs and jetties that all connected to one another before ascending a steep defile cut into the sea cliff about a handcart wide. The path was tough going and in his weakened state Harrow slipped more than a few times. But, a handhold had been rigged up in the form of a rope that hung from either side of the passage, and he managed to make his way.

At the top of the defile, the village of Berk opened up to Harrow's eye. The architecture of the villager's houses could be described as robust, with steeply pitched roofs that ran in an arch from peak to foundation and sturdy facades made from thick wooden planks. The shingles upon the roof were fired clay and were arranged in patterns reminiscent of dragon's scales, the better to shed rain and the weight of snow. The windows were roughly square and could be closed with sturdy wooden shutters on iron hinges. The doors were made of heavy slabs of hardwood reinforced with iron bands and hinges. Dragon motifs were everywhere in the form of carvings, upon lintels and thresholds and pillars.

And more than simple carven decorations, real _live_ dragons were everywhere amongst the tightly huddled houses. Gronkles lay out before the doors of their master's homes, like great guard beasts. Terrible Terrors flew in little flocks amidst the roofs, some ambled about on the streets with their noses to the ground in search of scraps of food. One home had a great Monstrous Nightmare curled on it's roof, rumbling contentedly in it's sleep. As Harrow looked on, a Deadly Nadder strode by proudly with it's master, harnessed to a wooden cart filled with crates, headed up the narrow street that Bucket, Mulch, and he were following.

Being close to the end of the working day, there were not so many Berkians out in the street. Most homes had their window shutters open and the smell of wood fires wafted on the air as families built up their fires for the night.

Bucket and Mulch led him through the center of the village, an open commons where banners, pennants and strings of lanterns had been set up. Merchant's stalls were also in evidence, though they had yet to be furnished with merchandise.

"What's with all the decorations?" Harrow asked as they went on through the village, headed up the slope toward a spire of rock at the top of the hill on which the settlement had been founded.

"Well, it's all in preparation for a grand celebration, you see." Mulch explained. "Berk is four hundred years old in four days, and we Berkians are going about getting the island ready for the Anniversary."

"Huh, four hundred years." Harrow reflected. "That's quite an accomplishment for any tribe."

Mulch laughed. "Especially for the Hooligans of Berk! Don't forget, laddie, up until just very recently we've been fighting tooth and nail against not just the capricious weather of the Archipelago, but also against a seemingly endless cycle of dragon raids."

"You're right. I'm sure your ancestors would be proud of how far you've come."

"Aye, but they'd be horrified to see how we've welcomed dragons into our midst, I'd think." Mulch opined dryly. "They'd never understand that a dragon doesn't need to be dead to be good."

They passed a Viking lodge standing alone on the hill's slope, bigger and more ornate than the other homes down in the village proper.

Mulch nodded to it as he passed, and said to Harrow, "There stands Haddock Hall, ancestral home of Clan Haddock, and home of our Chief. A lot of history is bound up in that building, mark my words. It has stood as long as Hooligans have been on Berk and survived all the troubles the tribe as gone through from the very beginning. Every Chief we've had has dwelled in its walls."

"It certainly looks like it was built to stand the test of time." Harrow observed, his eye roaming over the stately old home. "It looks like it was built like a fortress."

"Aye, it has served as a stout refuge during dark times." Mulch agreed, trudging onwards up the slope. "But then our people excavated the Great Mead Hall. If Haddock Hall is the soul of Berk, the Great Mead Hall is the heart."

Harrow turned his eyes from the lodge on the slope and looked ahead. The stone spire at the top of the hill loomed ahead like a shadow against the night sky. A great staircase had been cut out of the ground and it marched gradually up to the base of the spire. There he saw a massive set of doors, maybe forty feet high, richly carved and set between massive pillars like the boles of trees and flanked by a pair of great iron braziers that blazed with light. Another pair of ancestral guardians had been carved into the stone of the spire on either side of the doors, armed with sword and shield like the pair out in the harbor. Their expressions seemed to shift in the flickering firelight.

Harrow stopped and stared. It was like looking upon a scene out of an edda. Ahead, Bucket had already mounted the stairs up to the doors. Mulch, close behind, stopped and looked back. The fisherman smirked when he saw the awestruck expression on the young man's face.

"Come on, laddie, plenty time to gawk later!" Mulch called to him. "If you think this is impressive, just wait to you see the inside."

Harrow shook his head to snap himself out of whatever trance he had been caught by and hurried up the wide steps after his benefactors. At the top of the great staircase, the heat of the braziers cut through the growing chill of the night. Bucket and Mulch each put out a hand and pushed open one of the mighty hall doors. The scene beyond the threshold was every bit as impressive as seeing the hall's exterior for the first time.

A massive cavern had been hewn from the very guts of the spire of stone. As Harrow stepped into the Great Mead Hall, his eye roved around, drinking in every detail. The ceiling was almost lost to sight, far overhead. Pillars like carven trees stretched from floor to the ceiling in a wide circle, supporting what must have been a vast weight of stone effortlessly. Statues of past chiefs twice the height of a tall man flanked the door on the interior, and portraits of those self-same chiefs hung beside finely woven tapestries and shields on the stone walls.

A great firepit had been sunk into the very center of the room and a great bed of smoldering embers was heaped within, suffusing the great chamber with heat and dim light. A number of torches were ensconced on both pillar and wall and added their own inconstant brilliance. Spaces had been provided on the far end of the hall for the preparation of food, great trestle tables piled with crockery and gouged chopping blocks. Smaller wooden tables and low benches were scattered around the open spaces between the walls, the pillars, and the fire pit. The smell of old smoke, burnt meat, and mead hung in the air like a fog.

"See what I mean, laddie?" Mulch was saying. "Ain't it grand?"

"This place is amazing!" Harrow breathed, his eye still darting from one detail to the next feverishly. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Aye, a truly one of a kind feat." Mulch agreed with more than a hint of pride. "Hooligan ingenuity at it's finest! The whole of Berk could fit within these walls with nary a trouble, and on many occasions it has. We sometimes have to gather the village folk here when the weather turns foul in Devastating Winter, or when an enemy tribe decide to raid the island. But more often of late we've held feasts, for weddings, treaty signings and such."

"Those must be sights to see, all of the village in one place." Harrow mused. "This place must fairly ring with the laughing and music, I'd imagine."

"It does get rather hard to hear oneself think at those times, tis true." Mulch replied dryly, "But that could also be due to the mead going to one's head! Ha!"

Mulch squinted in the dim light, and seemed to be looking for someone in particular. Harrow noticed now that the hall was not empty. Small groups of Berkians gathered here and there, either at tables or standing in little knots, mugs in hand, chatting quietly or not so quietly depending on how much they had drunk. Probably twenty or thirty people, all told.

At length, Mulch nudged him with his good hand, and said, "I see the Chief, he's over toward the back at the High Table. Let's go!"

Harrow looked in the direction the big fisherman had indicated and saw that there was a raised dais close by the firepit, raised some five feet off the flagstoned floor so that the table upon it stood apart from all the others. There, sitting in a ornately carved high-backed chair, sat a truly gigantic man with a great mane and braided beard of thick red hair. He was dressed in a fine green tunic and wore a long hauberk of iron scale. Iron pauldrons rode upon his broad shoulders and a great horned helm sat upon the crown of his head. Bracers of iron studded leather adorned his wrists and forearms. His face was heavy featured under a broad brow traced with stress lines, his mouth nearly hidden behind the veil of his beard and mustache. His eyes were green and seemed to flash from afar, wise and thoughtful.

As Mulch approached the Chief's High Table, he waved and cried out, "Hail, Chief!"

"Hiya, Chief!" Bucket chimed on his part, smiling broadly through his own blonde beard.

Stoick Haddock, the Vast, Chief of Berk seemed to come out of whatever thoughts he had been thinking and turned to regard their approach.

"Mulch, Bucket, good to see you." Stoick greeted them, his voice deep and resonant. "How was the fishing this run?"

"Not so good but not so bad, either." Mulch replied off-handedly. "About so-so, I'd say. But, Chief, that's not why I sought you out this fair evening."

Stoick's bushy red eyebrows rose in a question. "Is there a problem I should know about, then?"

"Not so much a problem, Chief." Mulch told Stoick. "While Bucket and I were out on the Northeastern Approach at one of our usual fishing spots, we came across this lad here."

Upon saying this, Mulch gave Harrow a gentle push forward. "He's been shipwrecked, sir. Bucket and I found him just as his dinghy was about finished. We figured that Berk has room for one more."

Harrow froze as the steady emerald gaze of the chief now turned and focused upon him in particular. Stoick's beard moved in a manner suggestive of a frown, but Harrow couldn't tell whether the man was merely studying him or if he had somehow found his disapproval.

"What's your name, lad?" Stoick rumbled at length.

"Harrow, sir."

"And where do you hail from, Harrow?"

"The Songless Isles, sir. From a village known there as Discord. Sir." Harrow explained, surprised to find his voice steady despite the thrill of trepidation he felt. The tales he'd heard about Stoick had always painted him as a fearsome, intimidating presence. It seemed now that they were not in exaggeration.

Stoick nodded at Harrow's answer, stroked his beard, asked another question. "Do you recall the name of the ship you were sailing on?"

"No, sir." Harrow replied, wetting his lips nervously. He had never thought to make one up. "I wasn't really paying much attention to, uh, things like that at the time. I just wanted a berth onboard."

"Why?"

Harrow swallowed, his throat having gone dry. Stoick had fixed him with a shrewd gaze. "Ah, well, I was not happy where I was living at the time, sir."

"So you thought you'd set sail with a strange ship, a ship you didn't bother to get the name of, and what, exactly?"

"Uh…"

"Chief, he's been looking for greener pastures." Mulch helpfully supplied, seeing Harrow's distress under the withering gaze of Stoick. "So he's told me, on our trip back."

"I see." Stoick said, his tone cool. "Well, while I don't much care for the lack of foresight and the rather slapdash fashion in which you conducted yourself in getting here, I can't fault a young man for wanting something more out of life."

"Thank you, sir."

"Be that as it may, understand I'm not just going to give you a place on Berk for the asking." Stoick went on to say, his expression stony. His eyes betrayed no warmth. "The truth is, lad, I barely know you. And I'm not in the habit of trusting strangers plucked out of the sea. Berk has a lot of enemies, some of them very crafty. _All_ of them dangerous."

Harrow felt his stomach knot and his heart grow cold. "I am no enemy of Berk, sir, I swear!"

Stoick raised a slab-like hand to forestall Harrow's outburst. "Peace, lad, I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm merely laying out the facts as I see them. I may not know you, or indeed trust you yet, but I cannot ignore the fact that members of my tribe saved your life. That means I, as Chief of the Hooligans, must extend hospitality to you."

"Aye, that's right." Mulch remarked. "The lad's got neither a pot to piss in, nor a door to throw it out of."

"Thank you, Mulch, for that wonderful example of Viking subtlety."

"Anytime, Chief!"

Stoick rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. "Anyway, it just so happens that there are a number of guest lodges on the other side of the village. You can use one of them for the time being, or until such time as you decide to leave."

Harrow bowed his head. "Thank you, sir. It is true, what the skalds say, that your graciousness is only matched by your majesty. But, I have one request to make of you, if I may."

The flattery may have had more effect on a stone. "Aye, what is it?"

Harrow straightened himself and looked the chief in the eyes. "Sir, while I understand you are honorbound to offer hospitality freely to one as unfortunate as I, I would much rather perform some work useful to the people of Berk in exchange. I would feel better knowing that I earned whatever I am given."

Slowly, Stoick's expression of careful neutrality softened upon hearing this. He gazed upon the bedraggled young man standing before him with a new appreciation.

"Well said, Harrow. Your heart is in the right place. Your parents raised you well."

Harrow shifted uneasily on his feet, silent. He never really gave much thought about the people who had brought him into Midgard, not without a storm of emotions he couldn't begin to reconcile. He hoped the turmoil couldn't be seen on his face, tried to hold himself to impassivity.

"Do you have any particular skills you can offer?"

"Sir, I am an able sailor, and I have trained with both a sword and crossbow. I could fight, should it become necessary."

"I'm afraid I'll not be allowing you to go about armed on my island just yet, lad. Not until I've had a measure of your character." Stoick reasoned calmly, rubbing his bearded chin. "And, I don't know how keen you'd be getting back on a boat any time soon."

Harrow frowned, but nodded that he understood.

Stoick sighed and stood up wearily. "I'll speak with my council in the morning, and we'll see if we can agree on something productive to keep you busy. In the meantime, get something to eat. Mulch, if you'd be so kind as to guide Harrow to the guest lodges when he's through eating, I'd be much obliged."

Mulch grinned and nodded. "Sure thing, Chief."

"I suppose this is as good a time as any to say welcome to Berk." Stoick said to Harrow. "Oh, and I'll make sure you have some proper clothes to wear. Can't have you walking about like a beggar, now, can we?"

"Thank you again, sir. From the bottom of my heart." Harrow said to him. He was surprised to find that he really meant it. "You won't regret this."

"Aye, see that I don't." Stoick rumbled as he stepped past on his way towards the door to the hall. "Good night."

Harrow watched the imposing figure of Berk's chief as he crossed the Great Mead Hall with great strides and disappeared out the great doors. He took a deep, steadying breath to ease his nerves. He had just begun to think that Stoick had sensed something was off about his story.

The story he had given was flimsy past the first glance, he realized. Viggo hadn't given him much to work with, not that Harrow really would have expected him to.

And, he had never been great at maintaining pretenses in his line of work as a bounty hunter. He didn't have a mind for subtlety.

Well, now he'd have to develop one. And hope that he could keep the tangled web of deceit he wove straight, or risk getting tripped up. Consistency, Harrow thought to himself, that was key. Tell the same thing over and over again with as few differences as he could. If there was no variation, it would ring true to the ears of others.

Or, so he hoped.

A loud rumble from his stomach broke him out of his inward thoughts. Mulch chuckled by his side and said, "Oi, I think it's time we get you some grub, eh?"

"I think your right." Harrow replied. He just became aware of the gnawing hollow feeling in his gut, now that the tension that was tying him up in knots had eased. He put his hands on his stomach. "Feels like I could eat a whole yak!"

"Ha! Let's start you off with some hearty fisherman's stew, a hunk of fresh baked bread, and a mug of some of the finest mead to ever pass the lips of a Viking." Mulch said, taking Harrow by the shoulder and guiding him toward where the food was served up. There, a kindly middle aged woman greeted them with a smile and ladled up some of the aforementioned stew out of a large black iron cauldron into three fired clay bowls. Chunks of bread and mugs of mead followed, and Bucket did in fact get a wedge of cheese, as promised.

Then, all three of them found a table and sat down, Mulch and Bucket on one side and Harrow opposite them. The rich aroma of the stew was making Harrow's mouth water. He picked up the small wooden spoon that had been provided to him and tucked right in. He didn't even care that the stew was burning his tongue, it tasted so good. He found himself shoveling the food in as fast as he could chew and swallow.

"Look at him go, Mulch!" Bucket exclaimed. "He's like a Terrible Terror on a leg of mutton!"

Harrow looked up, mouth full and spoon in mid-air. Mulch and Bucket were watching him with expressions of bemused astonishment. Harrow swallowed and shrugged, "What? It's good! It's the best thing I've had in days."

"Then perhaps you'd better slow down and taste it properly, aye?" Mulch suggested. "Though, when you're through, you might want to pay your compliments to the cook on duty tonight, Birgitte."

"I'll do that." Harrow replied. He had to consciously remind himself to not bolt the remaining stew in his bowl. He took his time with the rest, sopping up the creamy broth at the very end with the hunk of bread. The mead, while not his favored choice of beverage, wasn't bad as far as mead went. He savored every drop. Then he sat on the bench quietly and listened absently to Mulch and Bucket as they conversed about the next day's agenda.

The next thing he knew, Mulch was shaking him awake. "Come on, lad. You're going to have a stiff neck and a sore back if you sleep the whole night this way."

Harrow sat up, having apparently nodded off with his head on his folded arms upon the tabletop. He yawned and looked around. The hall was empty and quiet around them. He stretched.

"Sorry, Mulch."

"Not to worry. You had a full belly, probably for the first time in a while, and you were somewhere safe, dry and warm. It's no surprise you fell asleep." Mulch replied, waving off his apology. "Hearing Bucket and I rattle on about looking after our nets or where the prime fishing is isn't the most exciting thing, anyways."

Harrow nodded. Then yawned again, fit to crack his jaw. "Hmm, I think I'm getting ready to pass out. Can you show me to that guest lodge now?"

"Certainly." Mulch said. He got up and turned to Bucket. "Better gather up the crockery. Birgitte will have our hides if she finds we've left our leavings here on the table."

"Don't want that." Bucket replied. "I'll take care of it."

"Good man." Mulch turned to Harrow. "Come on, lad."

Harrow bid Bucket a goodnight and followed in the other fisherman's wake as they left the Great Mead Hall. Outside, it was a cold night. The moon was out and small bands of clouds scudded across the starry night sky, propelled by the wind. A silvery brilliance limned everything that it touched. Beside the guardians down at the harbor's mouth, only a handful of roving points of torch light marked where the village of Berk lay upon the hillside. Mulch picked up a brand from a barrel kept by the Hall's doorway and stuck one end into a nearby brazier. Thus equipped with a torch, he started down the steps.

As Harrow followed Mulch down into the village proper, he realized that those other roving points of light scattered around were the nightwatch, men and women who went armed and girt for battle about the darkened streets, ready to sound the alarm should trouble come along. He filed that bit of information away for later. He would have to figure out if there were routes they patrolled when he went about his quest.

On the far side of the village, toward the northwestern edge of the settlement that abutted the nearby forest, Mulch stopped before a plainly built lodge, oriented along a north-south axis, long and low to the ground, with four shuttered windows, two facing west and two facing east. There were three or four more lodges of the same merely functional design nearby, with two or three more across the little "street" that ran between them. Those looked as if they were still under construction.

Mulch stepped up to the door and pushed it open. The light of his torch spilled into the lodge and illuminated a sparsely furnished main room, with a hearth and logbox along the northern wall, shelves for storage, a rickety looking wooden table with a pair of low benches, and four small beds with thin blankets along the eastern wall. The musty scent of long disuse hung in the air and dust lay thick on all the surfaces.

"Sorry, lad." Mulch said softly, a touch abashed. "Looks like no one's got around to cleaning these guest places up just yet."

"I'm not really worried about that." Harrow replied, stepping across the threshold. "I'm more concerned with if they left me a supply of firewood."

"Ah, very practically minded, you are." Mulch opined. "Let's check and see."

The logbox had a meager collection of oddly shaped bits of wood, nothing one could call logs. Enough scraps to get a fire started and to keep the threat of freezing to death away, if not to make sleeping comfortable. Harrow arranged a lattice of the misshapen pieces of wood in the cold hearth, used some dried and crumbly leaves from the bottom of the box as kindling and Mulch supplied a flame with his torch.

The leftover wood caught and burned easily, if a little greasily. It was a sullen and smoky little fire but it was heat and light, so Harrow didn't complain.

"Alright, I suppose that'll do it for tonight." Mulch said once the fire was firmly established. "I'm for bed, myself. I hope you can get some rest, lad."

Harrow yawned, covered his mouth with a fist. "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"Ha! Maybe not. See you on the morrow!"

"Rest well, Mulch." Harrow replied. "And, again, thank you for coming along when you did."

Mulch smiled and tossed him a jaunty wave. Then, he closed the door and was gone, his footsteps fading away. Harrow was left with the sound of the night wind blowing outside and the crackle and pop of the fire in the old hearth.

He sighed to himself. "Well, I'm on Berk, and I'm not dead. That must count for something." He was sure it counted for a good start, but he didn't want to say that out loud and jinx himself. There was no need to tempt fate, as Ardyn would say.

Remembering the old reaver-turned-tavern master gave Harrow a stark reminder. He couldn't forget that he had come to this island with a purpose, and that he had only so long to achieve that purpose. Viggo was waiting.

And Signy was counting on him.

Sobered by that thought, Harrow picked the bed closest to the hearth and burrowed under the thin blanket. Moments later, despite the mattress being hard as a rock, he fell into an uneasy slumber.


	6. Welcome to Berk, Part 2

Morning came for Harrow all too quickly. Bright sunlight shone in around the shutters of the eastern-facing windows. He groaned as the light fell across his face and shifted onto his right side. He felt more exhausted than when he had gone to bed the night before and was dearly hoping to drop off into slumber again.

A loud rapping at the guest lodge's door shattered all practical thought of that happening. Harrow sighed and rolled off the bed, gasping as his bare feet touched the icy cold floorboards. He looked at the hearth and found that his fire had perished at some point in the night, leaving nothing but ash.

The knocking sounded again at the door, more insistently.

Harrow lumbered on feet going numb, not quite awake, in that general direction. He wondered who the Hel was waking him up so early.

A third round of knocking began as he took whole of the iron ring and pulled it open. The sudden wash of sunlight blinded him for a moment. The air was brisk and woke him more completely than he had been.

He blinked and found a tall, blonde Viking man with a long drooping mustache and a bushy unibrow standing at his doorstep. The man had obviously once been muscular but now seemed to be running more to fat, and had lost his right hand and left foot at some point in the past. He had a hook and a peg-leg prosthesis. He wore a grubby beige tunic, a fur jacket, and green-striped trousers secured with a rope belt. He held a wrapped bundle under one burly arm.

"There you are!" the Viking cried, exasperated. "Great Odin's beard! Boy, you must sleep like a stone. Thought I'd have to come in there and drag you outta that bed. Are you ready for the council meeting, or what?"

"Uh, what… what council meeting?" Harrow mumbled, his mind fuzzy.

"Don't be daft, lad! Stoick told you the other night that he was going to call a meeting of the council, didn't he?"

"I… do recall mention of something… like that, yes." Harrow replied, uncertain, his mind foggy. "But, really… I didn't sleep very well, so… I don't know if I should go…"

"Well, you know what would help you sleep?"

"No, what?"

"A good, old-fashioned hard day's _work_!" the strange man replied smugly. He threw the bundle at Harrow without warning. Harrow caught it awkwardly against his chest. "Go ahead, put that on and let's get a move on already. We're burning daylight!"

Harrow fumbled with the bundle and managed to unwrap it. He stared down at the dark red shirt and brown striped pants neatly folded within.

"Are you going to just stand there and gawp all morning, or are we going to the meeting?!"

Harrow jumped, startled. "Hel's teeth! Calm down, I'll be ready in a second!"

He stepped back and slammed the door in the stranger's face, who grumbled and shouted at him through the door about wasting time and being a lazy bones.

In a foul mood, Harrow cursed and muttered under his breath as he took off the ripped tunic and salt-stained pants that he had been wearing for the last three or four days, then shrugged into the new clothes.

His mood improved somewhat at the feel of clean cloth against his skin. The clothes weren't quite fitted to him, however, and he found he had to roll up the sleeves of the shirt and the legs of the pants to be comfortable. He slipped on his leather boots and opened the door again.

" _Now_ , are you ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready." Harrow grumbled sourly. "And, just for the record, just who the Hel are you, anyhow?"

The blonde Viking bowed sardonically. "Gobber the Belch, blacksmith of Berk. And, right hand man to the Chief of the Hooligans."

"Right... hand man?"

"Er, right _hook_ man, whatever." Gobber muttered, frowning. He wagged a thick finger at the younger man. "And you're the strange lad that Mulch and Bucket filched from the sea. Now, what was your name? Harry? Harney?"

"It's Harrow!"

Gobber made a show of snapping his fingers. "Oh, that's right!"

"Gods, I sure hope I don't get stuck working with you."

"Aye, you'd have no trouble finding sleep tonight, if you did." Gobber remarked snidely with a smile that revealed that he had lost a tooth in his lower jaw and replaced it with a stone.

"I'd have you hauling coal for the furnace, and sharpening blades till your fingers bled, and polishing handles till you could _taste_ it, and all sorts of odd little chores that I, as a _master smith_ , would not stoop to doing myself. Doesn't that sound just dandy?"

"I think I'd rather clean outhouses." Harrow muttered darkly, casting a malevolent glance sideways at the cantankerous old smith.

"Oh, be careful what you wish, laddie!" Gobber sang as he stumped along ahead of Harrow. "Did I mention that I was also part of the Council?"

"So? What does that have to do with anything?"

Gobber shot Harrow a pointed look. "It means that I get a say in deciding what kind of work you get to repay us Berkians with. So, don't worry, I'll keep that little quip about outhouses to the fore of my mind, just for you!"

"Go to Hel, Gobber.".

Gobber merely laughed. He hadn't had this much fun in a long, long time. The mismatched pair of Vikings walked through the bustling village.

The mid-morning sun was bright and warm overhead as the people of Berk went about their daily routines. Farmers were headed inland, to their fields and pastures. Tradesmen were already at their workshops. Harrow supposed the fishermen were already long away, having risen with the sun and gone with the early morning tides. He also noticed that many of the dragons which had been in such evidence the night before were nowhere to be seen now, aside from the odd flock of Terrors.

Gobber was greeted now and again by villagers he knew and he was jovial enough with them, laughing and joking. That was completely at odds with the impression left on Harrow. He himself felt many an eye on him, taking stock and making silent judgements. He wasn't too surprised, given the fact that he had arrived in the night and many of the Hooligan folk probably had no idea who he was.

At the village commons they found a group of villagers working on setting up more decorations and merchant stalls for the coming celebration. Harrow spotted the unmistakable personage of the Chief of Berk overseeing it all, hands on his hips. Another imposing man was with him, this one nearly as tall but not as immense. He had black hair and a black goatee and beard. He wore a grey leather jerkin over a black tunic with a wide studded belt at his waist. Both men turned to regard the approach of the village blacksmith.

Gobber stumped over with Harrow hot on his heels. "Alright, Stoick, I got the wee lag-about up. Can we get this meeting started, now? I've got other things on my agenda that need doing."

"Aye, Chief, time's a-wasting." the black haired man put in irritably. "Those guest lodge's aren't going to build themselves!"

"Hold your yaks, Spitelout." Stoick replied, furrowing his brow. "This won't take very long and then we can all get back to work." He turned and fixed Harrow with a hard look. "Did you rest well, lad?"

"Not really." Harrow answered. "The guest lodge was fine, in case you think I'm complaining. I just need to get used to sleeping on dry land again."

"Well, that may be. Have you had anything to eat?"

Harrow was ravenous, to put a fine point on it. However, he replied, "No, but I can wait."

"Alright, then." Stoick said. "Now, I've been giving your offer some though, Harrow. Right now, Berk could use another pair of strong arms and a good back. What do you know about carpentry?"

Harrow shrugged. "Nothing, sir."

"Well, you're going to learn a thing or two." Stoick told him firmly. He gestured to the man who went by Spitelout. "You're going to go help finish the guest lodges."

"Stoick, you're saddling me with the stranger?!" Spitelout cried, throwing his hands in the air.

"You were complaining earlier that you wanted more help, weren't you?" Stoick asked him sternly, crossing his arms. "Well, here you are. Now you'd have yourself, Snotlout, and Harrow."

"Stoick…!"

"Wait a minute, you're going to make me a common laborer?" Harrow cut in, incredulous. "Isn't there anything else, anything at all?"

Stoick gave Harrow a sour look. Gobber cleared his throat noisily and said, "Oh, well, I do happen to know a number of the outhouses need a good mucking out. How about that?"

"Aye, how about that, Harrow?" Stoick echoed, glaring pointedly.

"Ah… on second thought, I'd love to learn some carpentry, sir." Harrow replied uneasily, simpering.

Spitelout sighed heavily, as if a burden had been loaded on his broad shoulders. "Alright, I'll give him a chance."

"That's the spirit." Gobber remarked cheerfully. "I mean, how bad could he be?"

"Gobber, don't you have things to do?" Stoick snapped, "You seemed rather impatient earlier."

"Oh, right you are, Stoick!" Gobber said. "Let me get to it."

As Gobber hobbled off after his own chores, Spitelout turned resignedly to Harrow. "Alright, let's get a move on."

"Keep on eye on him, Spitelout." Stoick called after them as they departed. "We owe him hospitality, so make sure he doesn't end up falling off a ladder!"

"Don't worry, chief, I'll handle it!" Spitelout called back over his shoulder. He hurried on at a brisk walk and Harrow nearly had to jog to keep up.

When they got to the site of the unfinished guest lodge, Spitelout looked around at the stacks of cut lumber, the pails of hand-made nails and bundles of newly fired shingles. He frowned deeply. "Oi! Snotlout, where are you, son?!"

Something crashed on the other side of the steeply arched roof of the guest lodge and then a burly young man about Harrow's age appeared around the corner, rubbing his head irritably.

"Right here, dad! Don't need to shout!" He stopped and fixed Harrow with a confused look. "Who's this guy?"

"Son, this is Harrow." Spitelout replied, "He's the one that Mulch and Bucket pulled out of the sea the other night."

"So what's he doing here, then?"

"Stoick assigned him to help us finish the guest lodges." Spitelout explained. "He doesn't know much carpentry, though, so we'll have to give him a few pointers."

Snotlout groaned obnoxiously and made a show of rolling his eyes.

"Hey! I'm just as thrilled as you two are about the whole idea." Harrow snapped, irritated. "But, it was either this or mucking out outhouses, so it wasn't much of a choice."

"Alright, boys, enough fooling around!" Spitelout said, picking up a hammer and handing it to Harrow. "We can moan and complain or we can act like Vikings and get the job done. I say we get the job done."

"Fine." Snotlout said.

Harrow grunted. He was beginning to dislike these two. That feeling of dislike only grew as they got to work. Spitelout told him to haul another ladder alongside the one Snotlout had been using.

"I'll hand you boys the tiles with the hod, and you nail them down." Spitelout explained as Harrow started up the ladder's rungs, the hammer in one hand. "If we get into a good rhythm, we'll be done in no time!"

Snotlout already stood at the top of his ladder with a bucket of nails hung from one rung. A wooden plank was set across the tops of the ladders and acted as a working scaffold that they could rest the tiles on.

"Ready when you are, pops."

"Here's the first batch!" Spitelout called, and lifted the hod, a kind of wooden V shaped container on a long pole, up between the two young Vikings. Snotlout and Harrow both took a set of four tiles from the hod and balanced them on the scaffolding plank. Harrow was surprised at how sturdy the tiles were. They had a surprising amount of heft to them.

"The first trick about shingling a roof," Snotlout was saying to Harrow's left, "is that you don't want to crack the tile when you go to nail it to the roof."

"And how do you do that?"

"You can't fool around with it." Snotlout explained matter of factly, like he was some shinge-layer prodigy. "You got to show it who's boss. You take a nail and you give it a single solid smack, punch the nail straight through. Watch and learn!"

He demonstrated, taking a tile and lining it up at the end of the series he was working on. He pressed the tile and held it in place with his left, then with his right brought a nail to the center of the tile. Then he held the tip of the nail in place with the index finger and thumb of his left while maintaining the pressure on the tile with the heel of his hand. Taking up the carpenter's hammer in his free right hand, he delivered a single measured blow to the nail. The nail went in straight and the tile did not so much as chip. Snotlout turned and favored Harrow with a self-satisfied smirk. "See? Nothing to it."

"Well, if it's that easy, I shouldn't have any problems." Harrow muttered.

He tried to copy the movements that Snotlout had made with his own hands and the first tile slipped and fell between the lodge's wall and the ladder when he went to hold the nail to it's center. It shattered on impact with the ground. "Shit!"

"Oi! What in Asgard's name are you doing, lad?!" Spitelout bawled in outrage from below. "We don't have so many lying about spare that you can be breaking them all willy-nilly!"

"Ha!" Snotlout laughed obnoxiously, "Good job, butter-fingers!"

"Shut your mutton-hole." Harrow growled, flashing a cross glance at the other young man.

"Try again, and for Thor's sake, be more careful!" Spitelout called up. "Snotlout, quit being a dolt and show him how to do it again!"

Snotlout, grumbling colorful obscenities under his breath, did as his father bade. Harrow watched him go through the whole process again. Then he tried his second tile. This time he managed to keep the tile from slipping as he seated the nail. But when he struck the nail with his hammer, the tile split with a resounding crack and fell to the ground in two jagged halves.

"Odin's beard!" Spitelout cried in exasperation. "What did I just get through telling you?"

"What did I do wrong?!" Harrow cried out, frustrated, "I did everything right that time!"

Snotlout snorted derisively. "You didn't hit it hard or straight enough!"

"Yakshit! I hit it as hard and as straight as I could!"

"Well, if that's the case, you just aren't strong enough!" Snotlout retorted. He curled his right arm in a flex, the better to show off his not-insubstantial bicep. "I would know, my weapon of choice is a hammer!"

Harrow scoffed. "The Hel are you talking about?!"

"Face it, you're built more like my beanpole of a cousin than a real Viking!"

"Beanpole…?!"

"Are you two ladies going to keep arguing up there, or are you going to lay some shingles sometime today?" Spitelout drawled in exasperation from where he was leaning against the lodge.

"Alright, this is what we're going to do, since you can't wield a hammer properly." Snotlout said, condescendingly. "You're going to hold the tile, I'll drive the nail. Think you can handle that?"

"Fine! I can handle that." Harrow ground out between clenched jaws, "But, if you miss and get my fingers, I'll wipe that smug smile right off your face faster than you can blink. Got it?"

"Not with that hand, you won't!" Snotlout quipped gleefully. "But, I'll do my best not to miss… _too_ much."

Harrow merely glared daggers at the other young man. The labor thusly divided, they got started. For the most part, this modified procedure worked quite well. Snotlout was true to his word insomuch as not actively trying to crush Harrow's fingers, but it nearly did happen a couple of times. Harrow may not have had his full strength but he still was quick with his reflexes, and managed to snatch his hand away each time.

Snotlout tried to hide his disappointment.

Harrow wished that he could just shove the other Viking right off his ladder. A couple of hours passed and the finished one side of the roof. As Snotlout and Harrow were adjusting their ladders to the other side, Spitelout went to go get resupplied on nails from the village store of building materials.

"I'll be right back." he told Harrow and Snotlout, "Don't kill each other while I'm gone, aye?"

"I make no promises." Harrow deadpanned, glaring at Snotlout.

"Same goes for me." Snotlout replied loudly, meeting the glare and not flinching. "You know, even with that hideous scar, you're not scary."

"Oh, gods…" Spitelout muttered as he walked off. "I need a drink!"

As soon as Spitelout was out of earshot, Snotlout threw his hammer down on the ground and started walking away.

Harrow frowned. "Where are you going?"

"What does it look like?" Snotlout threw back over his shoulder. "I'm getting out of here while my old man's off getting those nails. I've got better things to do than help some useless castaway and my old man build some stupid lodge!"

"Like what, going to go bang your head against a stone?"

Snotlout turned and regarded Harrow with a pompous expression. "Actually, if you must know, I'm a dragon rider! I'm also the Stoker-class specialist at the Dragon Academy! And, I've got an important duty to perform!" The burly young Viking puffed himself up more with every word. "I'm next on the daily patrol rotation! It's my duty to ensure that this village - no, this entire island! - is protected from its enemies!"

"Oh, _really_?" Harrow replied, skeptical.

"Yes, _really_!" Snotlout grumped. "I fly the most fearsome and agile dragon in the whole of Midgard! But what would you know about that? Oh, that's right, you wouldn't know _anything_ , because you're not a dragon rider at all! You're just some stupid earthbound peasant!"

Harrow smirked in malevolent glee. "You know, you're going to catch Hel from your dad and the Chief."

Snotlout scoffed. "I'm not a child anymore. They don't scare me. Later, loser!"

Harrow just watched him go since he knew there was nothing more he could say that would stop him. He enjoyed a few moments of leisure before he decided he'd rather look like he was doing something productive, just in case the Chief or a villager happened by. He was going to be damned if he was going to appear an ingrate.

He bent down to pick up the hammer Snotlout had discarded. By chance, he glanced to the side and saw a pail of nails sitting on the other side of a lumber stack.

He blinked. "Huh. Guess we weren't out of nails, anyway."

Harrow looked around. No sign of Spitelout on his way back. In fact, not many people around at all. He balanced the hammer in his hand and decided he'd try to do some shingling on his own with no distractions. He wasn't exactly sold that his problem before was a lack of strength.

So, hammer stuck in the waistband of his pants and the handle of the nail bucket in hand, he climbed up one of the ladders. He picked up a clay tile from the board where they kept them at the ready, lined it up, seated the nail without dropping the tile, and took up the hammer in his free hand.

"You are not going to break this time, you hear me?" Harrow muttered to the tile. He drew back the hammer and prepared to drove home the nail.

And then a nasally voice cut in from behind and below, saying, "Uh, do you usually talk to inanimate objects? Or is this a new thing?"

Startled, Harrow swung the hammer without aiming. He edged the nail, causing the tile to split apart. He whipped his head around to look back behind himself so fast he almost fell off the ladder.

There, standing next to a black-scaled and green eyed dragon, stood a tall, lanky young Viking man. He had an unruly mop of auburn hair and intelligent green eyes. His face was soft, boyish and he sported a little white scar on the right side of his jaw. He wore a suit of leather armor festooned with straps, buckles, and pockets. But the most telling thing about his appearance was the fact that he had only one foot. His left leg ended just below his knee and he supported himself with an iron prosthetic strapped to his leg with leather buckles.

This newcomer was watching Harrow carefully, like he wasn't sure about his sanity. "So, uh… do you?"

Harrow realized he was staring and shook his head. "No, not usually. You...um, caught me at a very strange moment."

"I can see that." Green-eyes commented, grinning slightly. "You okay up there?"

Harrow opened his mouth to reply, to say something snide. He reconsidered his words, and instead said, "Not really. I'm having a devil of a time getting these shingles nailed to the roof without splitting. According to Snotlout, I'm not Viking enough to lay shingles."

" _Snotlout_ was helping you? Nevermind, I'm not surprised, that sounds exactly like something he'd say."

"Yeah, and his father was here, too. Uh, Spitelout?"

"Huh. And where are they now?"

"Spitelout went to get more nails." Harrow replied. "And Snotlout ditched me. Said he was some all important dragon rider and that he was next on the patrol rotation for today, or something like that, and the island's safety depended on him. Honestly, I kinda stopped listening halfway through whatever he was saying."

"Well, that's funny."

"What, me not listening halfway through?"

"No, that he said he has the next rotation." Green-eyes said with a puzzled look. "Because I distinctly remember that Heather and Fishlegs had this afternoon's shift."

"Wait, how would you know?"

"Uh, well… I assigned the rotation, of course!"

"You did?" Harrow furrowed his brow in thought, his gaze now tracking back to the dragon patiently sitting by Green-eyes, looking between the two young Vikings as they talked. As if it could follow their exchange and understand everything said. "Wait a minute… is that a…?"

"A Night Fury? Yes."

"A Night Fury! Then, that means you're the Dragon Conqueror!"

"Oh, you've heard about that title, too, huh? Well, yeah, that is me." Green-eyes replied, shuffling about uneasily with a wince. The dragon huffed and rolled his eyes. "But, I generally go by Hiccup, if you don't mind."

"Sure, by all means, no problem, no sweat..." Harrow rambled uneasily. He couldn't believe it! The very reason for him coming to Berk was right there, standing before him! If he moved quickly enough, he could knock him out and… and…!

 _And... promptly get mauled to death by his Night Fury. Good plan,_ _idiot_.

If, by some miracle of Asgard, he did manage to subdue or get past the Night Fury, he had no way to get an unconscious Hiccup off of Berk.

In essence, Harrow had no plan for anything past the part where he knocked Hiccup out cold.

"You sure you're alright?" Hiccup as saying, quirking an eyebrow. He was studying Harrow with concern. "Because you seem to be sweating and your face went pale."

"Uh… I must have overexerted myself." Harrow lied with a sickly smile, "I'm not… er, fully recovered, you know?"

Hiccup snapped his fingers as a thought occurred to him. "Ah! You must be Harrow, that guy Mulch and Bucket dragged out of the sea."

Harrow forced a chuckle. "Heh. Yep, guilty as charged." _Is that how I'm going to be introduced forever?_

"And... they have you up a ladder working on a roof?!"

"Well, it was my idea, actually." Harrow explained, wincing at how foolish that sounded. "I'd rather earn the food and shelter, not just rely on some old tradition."

"I can appreciate that sentiment, but I have to be honest… you look _awful_."

"Hey, thanks for summing that up for me." Harrow drawled dryly. "Good to know I look as bad as I feel. But, the way Spitelout was grumbling, I figured I'd ought to just shut my mouth and try and Viking up."

That statement must have struck a chord with the Berkian heir. His expression sobered up quickly. "You know, " he said, "you don't have to try and prove anything to anyone."

Harrow shrugged. "I'm not trying to. I just don't want to be a burden, if I can help it."

"You realize that if you fall off that ladder and brain yourself, you'd be an even _bigger_ burden on us than you are now, right?"

Harrow froze, stunned to the core by that simple logic. "Huh, that is… a very valid point." He cleared his throat. "I'll… er, get down from here, I think."

When he got his feet back down on the ground, the Night Fury ambled over and began to cautiously sniff at him with its blunt snout. Harrow held himself very still, even held his breath. It wasn't that he was afraid of dragons, not really, at least not since coming to Berk. After all, Berk was the fabled island where Vikings and Dragons lived in perfect harmony.

 _Or so the tales said..._

"Easy, Toothless." Hiccup breathed, tensing as the dragon nosed about the other Viking intently.

"What's he doing?" Harrow asked softly, watching with rapt attention as the Night Fury began to circle him slowly.

"I think he's just getting acclimated to your scent." Hiccup replied nonchalantly. "He does that with every new person he meets. He'll be able to track you clear across the island when he's done."

"Oh, that's good to know…" _Shit!_

At length, the dragon finished his olfactory inspection and settled back on its haunches. It crooned softly at Harrow and gave him a nudge with its snout, blinked its big green eyes.

"Now what?"

"I think he wants you to give him a scratch under the chin."

Harrow slowly reached out with his left hand, his nondominant in case the thing decided to bite it off, and did just that. He marveled as the fearsome creature trilled its pleasure and leaned into the gesture.

"Huh, just like a big puppy, isn't he?"

Hiccup snorted. "Yeah, Toothless is kinda a big baby."

The dragon whipped its head around sharply to regard him with eyes narrowed in annoyance. He slapped Hiccup in the back of the head lightly with it's tail. Harrow noticed that the Night Fury's tail sported a mechanical prosthetic in place of it's left tailfin, a device composed of a thin metal framework with a red canvas skin. That whole rig meshed with a purpose-built saddle that was buckled on Toothless's back, complete with stirrups. Questions abounded on the subject, but he filed them away for a later time.

Laughing, Hiccup flicked the tail away from him. "Hey, don't get upset with me! You know it's true!"

"You… ah, you're having a conversation… with a dragon?"

"Right. And you were talking with a roof shingle."

"That's not funny..."

"Heh, I know. Sorry. But for the record, yes, I can talk to Toothless and he understands me." Hiccup explained, glancing sideways at the dragon in question. "The question usually is if he'll listen."

Toothless rumbled at Hiccup innocently and blinked his eyes, as if he was saying "who, me?"

Harrow snickered, then gave the pair a shrewd look. "So, just goofing off, huh? I'd have figured the heir of Berk would be off doing something important. You know, arbitrating a dispute between villagers. Or maybe helping out with the preparations for the anniversary celebration, something like that."

"Actually, that's still the mostly my dad's job." Hiccup replied, scratching at the back of his head awkwardly. "He's still chief, and will be for some time to come. Thank the gods."

"Not looking forward to holding the reigns of power in the tribe?"

"Yeah, not really. I don't know if I'd do as good a job as my dad, honestly." Hiccup explained. "And, it just feels too much like getting caught in a net, the whole being chief thing."

"Really?" Harrow replied, doubtfully. "I'd have thought you'd be eager for it. I'd think most people would be counting down the days."

"Not me." Hiccup said, his tone firm. "In fact, I've been avoiding my dad all day, today. He's been on a kick lately of having me tag along and watch as he carries out his duties, giving me lessons on diplomacy, tribal lore and Viking traditions..." He shrugged helplessly. "Gets to be a bit much, you know?"

Harrow thought back to his own childhood. His own interactions with his father hadn't been too different in essence, merely in content. His scar throbbed in sympathy. He frowned and pushed the memories away. "Yeah, I kinda do."

"So, Toothless and I went flying. It's a great way to blow off steam and forget about whatever is stressing you out." Hiccup said. He gave the other young Viking a calculated look. "Have you ever considered giving it a try?"

"What, flying?"

"Yeah."

"Uh, no… not really." Harrow replied uneasily. "I mean, I've never been in a position to try. Most dragons in my neck of the Meridian try and steer clear of Vikings as much as possible."

"Well, if you ever want to give it a shot, my friends and I have a whole stable of dragons." Hiccup said cheerfully. "And we don't really need an excuse to go flying."

"I'll… uh, keep that in mind." Harrow replied, hoping his discomfort with the idea didn't seem overly apparent. He wasn't going to be taking up that offer any time soon. He had rather firm ideas about flying. "Thanks."

Hiccup smiled. "No problem."

"Ah, there you are, Hiccup!" Spitelout called as he walked up to them. He had a bucket of handmade nails in each hand. "I passed your father on the way here. He said he was looking for you, wanted to talk."

"Where was he?"

"He was by the storehouses, last I saw." Spitelout replied, pointing back the way he had come vaguely with a jerk of his chin over his shoulder. "He looked pretty serious, lad. Better not keep him waiting, if I were you."

Hiccup grimaced. "Yeah, thanks for the heads up." To Harrow he said, "I've got to go. You going to the Great Hall for nattmal?"

Harrow reflected stoically on how lightheaded he felt, how empty his stomach was. He was counting the hours till the evening meal. "Yeah. I'll be there."

"Alright I'll try and save you seat at the rider's table." Hiccup said. "Don't drop dead!"

Spitelout and Harrow watched as the heir of Berk and his dragon hurried off into the village.

"What was that about now?" Spitelout asked, quirking an eyebrow at Harrow.

"Inside joke, don't worry about it."

"Aye, I shouldn't have even bothered to ask." Spitelout opined wearily, setting the buckets down. "Hiccup's a nice enough lad, so don't get me wrong, but he can be… _strange_."

Harrow pursed his lips and nodded.

" Never could predict that one." Spitelout was saying, looking around the construction site. "Harrow, where'd my son get off to?"

Harrow tried to suppress a smug smirk. "Well, turns out he had something more _important_ to do."

"Oh really, is that what he said?" Spitelout mused archly, his expression darkening. "I'm going to have to have a discussion with that boy about _priorities_."

Harrow swallowed and thanked the gods that he wasn't Snotlout.

It was mid-day by the time they resumed working. Harrow switched roles with the older Viking, finding it much easier to deal with the hod than trying to drive nails through clay tiles without them breaking. Spitelout had no trouble falling into an efficient rhythm and a couple of hours later, they had finished laying shingles for the guest lodge's roof.

As they were carrying the ladders and tools back to the storehouses, Spitelout thanked Harrow for his help.

"You did good, lad." he was saying. "Better than I had expected, to be honest."

"Uh, thanks." Harrow replied, hiding his surprise. He didn't feel as if he had done anything particularly well. Still, it was gratifying that he was no longer regarded as a burden, even if by one person. "If we're done, what should I do now? Should I go look for the chief and see if he has anything else for me to do?"

Spitelout waved that idea off dismissively. "Nah, you'll want to be avoiding the chief at this moment. I'm sure he's wrangled Hiccup into another dreary session of chiefing lessons. Best not to disturb them."

"So, am I free?"

"Aye, and mayhap you should go get some rest, lad." Spitelout remarked, peering at the young man with one eye. "You look exhausted! I don't say this often to other people, but maybe you pushed too hard today."

Harrow shrugged. "Maybe."

"I'm serious!" Spitelout persisted. "The chief will roast me over an open fire and roll me in salt if he thinks I've worked you too hard. You only got to dry land a day ago, after your ordeal at sea, so it stands to reason you'd still be weak."

Harrow considered the older man's words and took stock of himself. Besides being ravenously hungry, he was tired. Bone tired, he'd admit. His limbs ached, especially his legs, from having to stand on a ladder for most of the day.

"Alright, fine, I guess I'll take a nap." he said at length. "But, I feel like a little baby, doing that. It's not very… Viking-ish."

Spitelout laughed, a short and sharp sound. "Ha! If it makes you feel any better, laddie, I'm for a wee snooze myself. We can't be at our best all the time, though I try like Hel."

"Guess I'll see you around, sir."

"Sir, is it now? Ha!" Spitelout laughed again slapped Harrow hard on the back. Not expecting the comradely blow, the younger man stumbled a step. "Take it easy, Harrow."

And then the older Viking walked off, headed for the village center, humming a jaunty tune.

Harrow wasted no time in heading to the guest lodge he had been gifted. He stepped inside the lodge, shut the door, found it to be too dark, and opened a western-facing window. The afternoon was brisk but not cold. The night would be colder, he knew, and decided that he'd put off his nap a tad bit longer to set aside some firewood.

The forest near Berk was old growth trees, tall and ancient. One could see where lumber had been harvested in years past. Those places were marked by younger, slimmer trees and not nearly as much undergrowth. Lacking a woodsman's axe to fell a tree or to buck logs, Harrow settled for gathering fallen branches and sticks. He gathered large arm-fulls and carried them back to the lodge, dumped them into the logbox. Harrow made three trips and managed to fill the container. Though they were not very big, the branches and sticks would be better than nothing when the sun set.

About that time, his stomach debated with the rest of his body as to what he should do next. He was so very hungry, but he didn't know if he'd stay awake to take even a single bite. And, it was a bit of a walk all the way to the Great Hall, clear on the other side of the village.

He tried and failed to suppress a yawn. "Hmmm, maybe I'll just rest my eyes for a little while…"

When he woke up and popped his head outside, the sun was slowly setting in the west. Dark clouds were rolling in from the north-east. The evening promised to be cool and possibly damp. Harrow found himself wishing he had something else to wear besides the too large tunic and pants he wore.

He didn't dwell on that fact for very long, his stomach rumbling loudly. He guessed he'd been asleep for two or three hours and decided that he was rested enough to probably not fall asleep in his food.

So, with the prospect of a hot meal firmly in mind, Harrow closed the lodge door behind him and started the trek towards the Great Hall.


	7. Welcome to Berk, Part 3

The Great Hall was much more crowded than the first time Harrow had been there. Half of the village of Berk had congregated for dattmal, the evening meal, crowding around the hall's tables. Loud voices engaged in dozens of conversations echoed off the stone walls and the distant roof, a pleasant tide of sound that washed over one as soon as they stepped over the threshold, punctuated with peals of laughter.

Along with the sound came the feel of the hall on one's skin, a kind of close warmth that may have been oppressive in any other clime. The smell was the next thing that caught Harrow's attention. The smoke-hazed air was rife with the scents of freshly broached casks of mead and ale and the meal fires at the back of the hall sent up aromas of baking pastry and cooking chicken.

Stomach rumbling loud as a Gronckle, Harrow stood for a moment at a loss as to where he should start. He saw where there was a long line of villagers waiting to receive their portions from the Hall cook and joined the tail end, hoping that the food would last.

As he waited, the line advancing a few steps at a time, he looked out over the sea of Vikings and saw the Chief, Stoick was there in the hall this night and was attended by the smith, Gobber and the man known as Spitelout. Gobber and Spitelout were eating and drinking and laughing, carrying on as if they had not a care in the world. The chief, however, seemed preoccupied with thought, only occasionally acknowledging the other men at his table with a word or a nod of his head.

Harrow spotted Mulch and Bucket at another table with a bunch of the men, possibly sailors or fishermen, their hands wrapped around big mugs brimming with drink. Mulch finished telling the other men something, maybe a story, and the others laughed and slapped each other heartily on the back. Bucket, as usual, seemed like he had missed something in the exchange. Still, the blonde Viking spotted Harrow and waved. Smirking, Harrow waved back.

The food line advanced and a dour-faced server wordlessly handed him a earthenware plate and a mug. The next person in the line was a robust Viking woman, her hair tied up in a neat bun, the sleeves of her tunic rolled up her arms to the elbow. She smiled and looked on Harrow with a motherly gaze as she filled his mug with mead.

"Drink up, laddie!" she chirped. "That brew will make you hale and hearty in no time at all."

Harrow dipped his head in gratitude. "Thank you very much."

The dish of the night turned out to be a kind of stuffed pastry. Harrow could feel his mouth watering at the sight of steam rising off the golden-brown, flaky crust. To the heavy-set cook handing them out, he asked, "Pardon me, but what are these filled with?"

"Minced chicken, boiled carrot and cabbage." the portly woman replied. She put a second pastry on his plate. "And judging by the look of you, boy, you could use another, if you don't mind me saying."

"No, it's fine. People have been saying I looked underfed all day, it seems." Harrow replied, "I'm sorry, I should thank you properly, but I don't think we've been introduced."

"Birgitte Holger." the woman said. "My husband's the brewer, Norbert Holger."

"I recall Mulch mentioning you the other night." Harrow remarked. "I owe you compliments for the fisherman's stew. It was excellent."

Birgitte's doughy face beamed with a smile. "Thank you kindly! My, want a well mannered lad you are! What is your name?"

"Harrow, ma'am."

"Well, Harrow, I hope you're enjoying yourself here in Berk." Birgitte opined pleasantly. "Now, go find a seat and enjoy your meal before it gets cold."

Harrow nodded his thanks and stepped away as villagers behind him advanced through the line. He wandered for a little while through the aisles between the crowded tables, looking for an open spot. It seemed that just about everywhere he looked was occupied. Then, over the sea of heads, he noticed someone was waving at him.

It turned out it was Hiccup, standing up at his seat at a table at the furthest reaches of the Hall. When Hiccup noticed he had Harrow's attention, he turned his wave into a beckoning motion.

Harrow started in that direction at first grateful that someone had saved him a seat. But, as he got closer, he hesitated. Hiccup was not alone. The heir of Berk sat with five other young adults, three women and two men. They all looked up from their meals as he approached, with expressions ranging from friendly openness to inquisitive curiosity.

 _Well, let's see how this goes…_

"Glad you saw me waving." Hiccup was saying. To one of the other males at the table he said, "Tuffnut, scootch over."

The young man in question shrugged and hip-checked the girl sitting next to him, a near perfect mirror image. She slapped the back of his head in retaliation. Harrow surmised that they were fraternal twins, both by appearances and by their mannerisms. Both had long, blonde hair that looked ill-kept and greasy. The girl had hers in three massive braids under a horned helmet. The boy had his in a number of dreadlocks also under a horned helmet. The difference being in the thickness of said horns. They both wore tunics and pants of vaguely earth tones and fur jackets. The girl twin had a necklace of bones.

"Hey, thanks for saving me a spot." Harrow said, sitting down in the space vacated. "I really appreciate it. I thought I'd have to eat standing up."

"You're welcome." Hiccup assured him. "No trouble at all." The blond girl sitting on Hiccup's right cleared her throat pointedly and dug him in the ribs with an elbow. She crossed her arms expectantly under her bust, giving him a glare.

Wincing and rubbing his side, Hiccup said, "Right, nearly forgot the introductions! Everyone, this is Harrow. Harrow, these are my friends. Astrid…"

The girl on Hiccup's right smiled and proffered her hand. "Well met, Harrow."

"Well met." Harrow found her grip to be strong and her hand calloused like a warrior's. Judging by the metal pauldrons on her shoulders and the bracers on her well-developed forearms, she was a shieldmaiden of some skill. Actually, Harrow mused silently to himself, the term Valkyrie would have been more appropriate, due to the girl's natural beauty and sense of poise. She wore her golden hair in a short braid down her back and her eyes were blue as the sky.

"That's Heather…"

The dark-haired, green-eyed girl to Astrid's right gave him a little wave of her hand with a smile. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." Harrow noticed that this girl also chose to go about in armor, including a leather cuirass, metal shoulderplates, and a armored skirt. She, too, wore her hair in a single braid much like Astrid.

"And on the far end there, that's Fishlegs."

At the far end of the bench sat the a rather husky young man with short blonde hair. He had a timid, bookish look about him. Still, his smile was warm and his green eyes were friendly.

"Hi! Hey, uh... quick question… are there dragons where you're from?"

"Fishlegs, maybe you could wait till after he knows everyone's names to interrogate him?" Heather suggested.

"I guess you're right…"

The young man who went by the name Tuffnut then stood and struck a rather dramatic pose, back straight, one fist held to his chest, the other behind his back.

"And I, good sir, am none other than the renowned warrior and dragon rider - not to mention Midgard's greatest prankster - Tuffnut!"

Before Harrow could say another word, Tuffnut's twin shoved her brother out of her line of sight with Harrow. She flashed him a coquettish grin and said in a low voice, "Don't mind my dear brother. He's not right in the head. I'm Ruffnut, by the way. So good to make your acquaintance."

Tuffnut cuffed her in the side of the head with a fist. "Hey! We're twins, in case you forgot! That means we're _both_ wrong-headed!"

Ruffnut scowled and glared murder at her sibling. "Yeah, well, you were late getting out into the light, elf-butt! That means your brain is _cracked_!"

"How do you even _know_ that, she-beast?!"

"Mom told me, duh!"

"That's yakshit…!"

The two of them went on arguing like that, punctuating each statement with a shove or a punch. Harrow became even more perplexed by their behavior as it escalated into a full-on wrestling much on the Hall floor right beside the table, each twin cursing and pulling on the other's hair.

"And there they go again." Astrid sighed wearily, shaking her head.

"Do they do this kind of thing regularly?" Harrow asked, picking up one of the pastries on his plate. It had cooled off considerably but he didn't care. He bit into the food hungrily as Heather answered his question.

"Oh, yeah. I think I can count on one hand how many days have gone by without there being a free-for-all between them."

"They seem like a rowdy pair." Harrow commented, speaking around a mouthful. "Having them around must make things interesting, eh?"

"Yeah, that's one way to put it." Hiccup said with a lopsided grin. "Between the pranks and the indiscriminate destruction, it's never dull."

"Pranks?"

"Just keep a weather eye over your mug." Astrid suggested. "And never accept anything they give you at face value. The first, and last, time I did was when they gave me a honey cake on my birthday."

"Come on, that doesn't sound so bad!"

"That honey cake turned my teeth _green_ for... _three days_." Astrid grumbled, glaring bloody murder at the two rough-housing trouble-makers.

Harrow stifled a snicker.

"That's not as bad as what they did to Heather, though." Fishlegs piped up from his end of the bench. "They gave her a kind of new soap for her hair…"

Heather groaned, clapping a hand over her face. "Ugh, please don't bring that up again!"

"Let me guess," Harrow mused, trying not to grin, "Your hair turned green?"

"No, worse than that! It fell out in clumps!"

Harrow snorted, nearly choked on the bite of food in his mouth, and took a swig of mead. "Your hair _fell out_?!"

"Yep, sure did." Hiccup said conversationally. "Fishlegs and I had to hold her back, she was so angry."

"I was _livid,_ Hiccup. It took months, _months_ for it to grow back!"

"Threatened to send them to Valhalla early, if I remember correctly." Astrid supplied helpfully, smirking brightly. "And very colorfully, might I add."

Fishlegs nodded. "I never thought I'd hear such language coming out of Heather's mouth, of all people."

"Okay, message heard loud and clear." Harrow said. "I will be on my guard. Thanks for the heads up."

"So, about my question earlier..." Fishlegs began hopefully.

"The one about if there dragons out on the Songless Isles?"

Fishlegs nodded, his excitement plain to see. "Yeah! I'm exceedingly curious to know, since I've been working on a companion to the Book of Dragons. A second volume, to expand on breeds of dragon found elsewhere in the wider Meridian."

Harrow had no idea what the eager young scholar was talking about. A book of dragons? He'd never heard of such a thing. But, he supposed it wasn't really a big surprise, given where he was. Berk was the at the forefront of dragon research, after all. He noticed that the others, aside from the twins, were listening intently for his answer.

 _Hel's teeth, they're not going to like it._

"Uh, well, you see… there were at first."

Fishlegs frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, at first there were dragons on the Songless Isles." Harrow explained, trying to think of a way to sugarcoat the full answer. "I guess I should explain more in detail."

He took a pull from his mug. "Okay, so from what I understand, when Vikings first settled the Songless Isles three hundred years ago, there were dragons all over. All different breeds, but most of them are varieties you would recognize from Berk and the Archipelago. However, the Songless Isles are a harsh place to make a home. Storms pound the Isles for three seasons out of the year, the growing season is brutally short, and the waters about the Isles are rife with navigational hazards. As a result, the amount of food that could be grown or harvested from the land and sea was incredibly meager."

"So how did the early Viking colonists survive then?" Astrid asked, brow furrowed. "It sounds like a miracle from Asgard that they lasted even one year, nevermind three hundred."

Hiccup swallowed hard, his expression uneasy. "I think I know." He looked Harrow in the eye. "They hunted the dragons for food, didn't they?"

Heather blinked, aghast at the very concept. "No way! That's… that's _barbaric_!"

Harrow nodded wordlessly, looked down at his plate.

Hearing this bit of news, the twins paused in their scrum. "They… _ate_ … dragons?" Tuffnut blurted out, shocked.

"It was the best solution they had given where they were and the resources at their disposal. The dragons were directly competing with the colonists, sometimes even preying on them." Harrow explained, grimacing. "So they merely returned the favor."

Fishlegs, looking pale and sick, put his head in his hands. "I wish I hadn't asked!"

"I'd never even _think_ of eating Barf, or Belch!" Ruffnut cried, dismayed.

"Guys, as bad as it sounds, we really can't judge them too harshly." Astrid interjected. "When it comes down to survival, you do what you have to. No matter what."

"Right. It wasn't too long ago we were faced with a similar situation." Hiccup added thoughtfully. "I mean, we weren't _eating_ dragons, sure, but they were threatening our survival nevertheless."

Heather shook her head. "That's different. Hiccup! The dragons around here were being _forced_ to raid Berk by the Red Death, and instead of killing them you ended up freeing them."

 _Red Death_? Harrow filed that name away for later. He noted the troubled expressions of his tablemates. "Maybe we ought to change the subject?"

"Good idea. Soooo, how are you adjusting to life on Berk?" Astrid asked, grateful to leave the previous conversation behind. "I heard Stoick put you to work straight away."

"Actually, that was my idea. I didn't want to be a freeloader, can't stand that." Harrow explained. "Though I wish the chief would give me a chance to do more than finish roofs."

"Carpentry not your style?" Hiccup asked with a knowing grin. "I thought Snotlout was giving you pointers."

" _Snotlout_?" Astrid echoed, sceptical. She gave Harrow a sympathetic look. "How did you not deck him in the first five minutes?"

Harrow shrugged diffidently. "I have a high tolerance for stupidity."

"Hey, where _is_ Snotlout, anyway?" Ruffnut asked, looking toward the front of the hall. She and her brother had taken their seats on Harrow's side of the table again, although now she had swapped places with her brother. "He's usually here by now."

"Yeah, and he owes me a rematch since he won the last food fight!" Tuffnut added sulkily, slamming both fists on the table. Fishlegs caught his and Heather's mugs before they tipped over, glaring at the male twin. "He'd better not be skipping out."

"He's been gone for a while now." Heather remarked, putting a hand on Fishleg's. "I wonder if something happened to him?"

"Don't wouldn't worry about him. He's just out for a joy ride." Hiccup explained with a frown, mildly annoyed. "He left his dad and Harrow to finish a building job earlier this afternoon. I'm going to have a little chat with him about using his dragon as an excuse to ditch his responsibilities."

Shaking his head, Harrow polished off the first of his stuffed pastries and said, "I told him he's going to catch Hel. But, did he listen? Of course not."

"He can be a muttonhead sometimes." Ruffnut said, "Now I can't wait to see what kind of punishment his dad comes up with!"

Hiccup sighed. "Yeah, well, if he does get punished, it means that I'm going to have to reorganize the assignments again for the next couple of days."

Both twins made overly dramatic shows of disdain and exasperation, punctuated with banging their heads against the table.

Fishlegs looked pleadingly down the table at Hiccup. "Can't we just let it go?"

"You know we can't." Hiccup replied, sadly. "We've got two days till the anniversary celebration. We can't let our guard down, not when we're going to have guests arriving in a day or so. Especially with… well, you know…"

"Oh, you mean the bounty on your head." Tuffnut blurted out, oblivious. "Not to worry, H, Ruffnut and I have spread some of our flyers about. Your bounty is but a paltry sum when compared to the one on us! No bounty hunter in their right mind would pass up turning us in, given the choice! Should keep the riff-raff off your trail."

"Not helping, guys." Astrid drawled, fixing them with a withering gaze. To Hiccup she pointedly asked, "You haven't told your father about the bounty yet?"

"No, not yet. He's got enough on his mind with the celebration, I just didn't want him to worry about something else." Hiccup replied. "Besides, I can handle it. We're on Berk, probably the safest place for me to be in the whole of the Archipelago! There's no way a bounty hunter is going to get within ten feet of us without someone noticing."

Harrow coughed as he was taking a drink when he heard this, continued to hack and gag as he swallowed mead the wrong way. Everyone at the table looked on as he fought for breath, pounding his chest with a fist.

"Is something wrong, Harrow?" Fishlegs asked, concerned.

Harrow shook his head as he cleared his throat, "No, no… just drank too fast." He coughed once more. "What was that about a bounty?"

"Uh, yeah…" the Berkian heir mumbled, looking uneasy. He looked around the table and then down into the bottom of his mug. "It's a long story."

Harrow shrugged. "I've got time. That is, if you're willing to tell me about it. I'll understand if you don't want to. I'm just a guest of the tribe, and not even a Hooligan, much less a dragon rider."

"Don't worry about it." Hiccup assured him. "It's nothing against you personally, I'd just rather not risk too many other people knowing."

"Really, you're going to worry about that now? Tuffnut just threw it out there without a single hesitation." Harrow pointed out, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

Tuffnut threw up his hands and cried, "Hey, how was I supposed to know that's what he was talking about? He could have been talking about anything, like how we lost all of Berk's gold, you know!"

"TUFFNUT, SHUT UP!" shouted all of the other dragon riders.

"Fine, keep your helmets on! _Thor Almighty_!"

Harrow snickered.

The meal seemed to drag on. Harrow fell into a sort of comfortable silence, eating his second pastry slowly and merely watching and listening as the rest of his table mates told stories of past adventures. It seemed like they were doing it for his benefit, trying to clue him in on everything. He found that his lips had curled unconsciously into a smile, and that it was hard to stop smiling. He knew he should probably be trying to keep his distance, emotionally speaking, to not develop friendly feelings for these people. But, he had a nagging feeling that would be hard to avoid.

At some point, Fishlegs pulled the Book of Dragons out of a satchel he kept at his side and laid it in the center of the table. He was positively quivering with excitement to show Harrow every entry within its worn vellum pages. Harrow listened as the young dragon scholar started rattling off facts and statistics, pointing out features of each dragon's unique biology with a chubby finger darting around the pages. Harrow noted that the sketches were more like works of art, rather than simply functional representations. He idly wondered who had drawn them. Heather added her own two coppers now and again, clarifying a remark Fishlegs made or elaborating on something he glossed over.

"So, you're telling me that gronkles can eat a specific formula of rocks, and then burp up a raw hunk of a whole new metal alloy?"

Fishlegs nodded, eyes bright. "Isn't it fascinating?! We coined the name "Gronckle Iron", for obvious reasons. It's stronger and lighter than regular iron, and it doesn't rust hardly at all."

"And, best of all, it keeps it's edge when sharpened." Heather added with a grin. "A gronckle iron axe could chop wood for months and it wouldn't need even a single trip to the smith for sharpening."

"Huh, that sounds incredible." Harrow remarked, feeling somehow caught up in their knowledge high. "Why don't you make everything out of gronckle iron, then? Why even bother with regular iron?"

Fishlegs put on his best sagacious expression. "Well, most dragons have a limit to how many times they can use their natural breath weapon. A shot limit, if you will. I hypothesize that gronckles can produce as much raw gronckle iron as they have shots, but can't both shoot magma or produce ore. They can only do one or the other."

"So one gronckle by itself couldn't produce large amount on its own." Harrow reasoned. "Then why not get a bunch of gronckles together, have them produce the raw ore in batches?

"I guess that could work, sure. But then we run into the issue of the raw material for the formula." Fishlegs explained, brow furrowing in thought as he mentally chewed on the problem. "I suppose it's mostly a question of logistics that holds us back from totalling phasing out mundane iron..."

And off he went on a discourse on the materials of the formula, and where each particular rock and mineral could be found in the Archipelago. Harrow tried to keep up, but had never really had much of a background in earth lore and simply nodded at the appropriate times when he felt prompted.

His attention wandered and he noticed that Astrid and Hiccup were having a rather animated discussion between themselves, held at a low whisper. Probably still hashing out what Hiccup would do about the bounty on his head, Harrow thought. Astrid seemed worried, a trifle frustrated that Hiccup hadn't informed his father. Her fair face was drawn in lines of concern, her brow knitted. Hiccup by contrast was all smiles and laughter. He didn't seem worried in the least, or was very good at putting up a convincing front.

Suddenly, Harrow felt a gust of hot breath against the side of his face. He turned to see where it was coming from and was surprised to find Ruffnut staring at him, her eyes glazed over dreamily and a crooked smirk on her thin lips. A split second later she realized she was staring into his eyes, or at least his one good eye, and she turned away quickly, her neck and face red with embarrassment.

"Sorry!" she mumbled.

Like a good brother, Tuffnut saw her discomfiture and laughed obnoxiously.

Ruffnut jammed a bony elbow into his ribs. "Shut up, bro!"

"OW!"

"Unless you want me to rearrange your face, you'll keep your mutton hole shut!" Ruffnut hissed, turning a even more pronounced shade of crimson. She hazarded another glance at Harrow out of the corners of her eyes but didn't say anything more. She seemed to retreat into a sullen silence.

Harrow, perplexed beyond words, decided to concentrate on his empty plate.

Thankfully, it was at that moment that Hiccup stood up from his seat. "I'll see you guys later."

"What's up?" Heather asked, as Fishlegs dropped his lecture for one in mid-sentence to listen.

"I'm going to go have a talk with my dad about the patrol rotation, in case Snotlout _is_ grounded tomorrow." Hiccup explained. He cast a look at Astrid, who returned it with a pointed gaze of her own. An unspoken message seemed to fly the space between them. "I'll see you guys tomorrow at the academy."

His friends made their farewells. Harrow sketched a motion halfway between a salute and a wave.

Hiccup wasn't half way across the great hall before Astrid stood as well. "I'm turning in."

"Turning into what, exactly?" Tuffnut quipped, grinning like a fool.

Astrid rolled her eyes good naturedly as she walked away. "Ha, that's a good one, Tuffnut. Haven't heard that one before."

"See you tomorrow!" Heather called after the shieldmaiden. "Remember, we're sparring after daggmal."

Astrid merely waved over her shoulder in reply.

"Do you want to talk a walk by the beach?" Fishlegs asked Heather a moment later, hopefully. The dark-haired girl favored him with a winning smile, green eyes dancing with merriment. "And watch the stars come out, perhaps?"

Fishlegs nearly leapt off the bench in his haste. "Certainly!"

Harrow watched as Heather led Fishlegs through the hall, threading through the scattered tables. He quirked an eyebrow. Had he seen them holding hands?

"And then, there were three!" Tuffnut intoned ominously, walking carelessly over the table top - earning glares from those villagers sitting nearby- to sit on the far bench opposite his sister and Harrow. He regarded them with what he obviously considered a devious gleam in his eye. "What brand of merry mischief shall we hellions get into, eh?"

"Aw, give it a rest, Tuff." Ruffnut mumbled, uninterested. "It's too late to do anything really fun without getting into trouble. And besides, we just finished the punishment detail for the _last_ stunt we pulled!"

"Come on! That's never stopped us before, Ruff!"

"And what was that, dare I ask?" Harrow interjected, quietly questioning his sense of curiosity. He was wondering how bad these Thorston twins really could be, whether or not the earlier warning was simply an exaggeration for his benefit.

"Oh man, you should have been there to see it!" Tuffnut crowed, rubbing his hands together with glee, "We tied burning brands to the tail tuft of Old Gorey, the biggest and meanest bull yak on Berk! It was _glorious_!"

"How in Thor's name did you manage that?"

"We waited till he was asleep, of course." Ruffnut explained matter of factly, her spirit seemingly recovering somewhat now that Harrow was involved in the conversation. "Do you know how _hard_ it is to sneak up on a two hundred pound bull yak?"

"A two hundred pound bull yak who is _very, very_ territorial, might I add!" Tuffnut chimed in with a madcap grin.

Against his better judgement, Harrow found himself returning that grin. There was something infectious about their demeanor. "No, why don't you tell me."

 _ **Minutes earlier, at the Chief's High Table…**_

"There you are, laddie!" Gobber burst out as Hiccup approached the Chief's table. "I haven't seen you at all today. Where've you been?"

"Aye, you've made yourself awfully scarce today." Stoick remarked, fixing his son with a level gaze.

Hiccup resisted the urge to simper and look sheepish. He had did his best to avoid crossing paths with the chief for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the look he was receiving now. It was a look that spoke volumes. Since he was very young, Hiccup had tried to avoid incurring it. But he had to remind himself that he was no longer a child.

So he took a seat at the High Table and forced himself to keep a placid expression and not to fidget. "Sorry, dad. I've had a lot on my plate with arranging security for the upcoming celebration."

"You could at least spare a moment for your dear old father, Hiccup." Stoick admonished wearily, placing a huge hand on his son's comparatively lean shoulder. "Now, is there anything you wish to tell me? Any news from the Edge?"

"No, not really." Hiccup replied, shrugging. "Just the usual back and forth with Viggo and his dragon hunters. Nothing we can't handle."

"Well, that's good." Stoick opined. "Though I hope you've left your worries about Viggo and his ilk to the side, Hiccup. You should be enjoying yourself while you're home. It's not everyday that we celebrate four centuries of history, after all."

"I'll try, dad." Hiccup assured his father earnestly. "But you know it's not that easy."

Stoick sighed and took his hand from his son's shoulder, grasped his mug. "Aye, I know. You're too much like me, in that regard. I can't lay my burdens aside easily, either."

"Though Thor knows we try and get you to, chief." Spitelout commented drily. "We're your advisors for a reason, aye?"

"Aye!" Gobber cried, "You need to delegate a bit more when you can, Stoick. You'll give yourself another one of those legendary headaches of yours if you don't!"

Hiccup smiled a bit as his father spared his advisors a grimace and a long suffering sigh. Hiccup knew it was hard for his father to ask for help, or indeed to acknowledge the simple fact that not everything could be done by his hands alone. He was a firm believer that the chief of a tribe must be the shining example of strength and tenacity to his people.

Stoick at length asked his son, "So, what is it that has brought you to me?"

"Well, dad, I have a question." Hiccup replied. "But before I ask it, I have a question for you, Spitelout."

"Ask away, lad." Spitelout replied plainly.

"Do you know where Snotlout is?" Hiccup asked. "He didn't show up tonight for nattmal. And I know that he left earlier this afternoon on a joy ride with Hookfang."

Spitelout's expression hardened. "Ah, I do, indeed. My son disappointed me, today. He shirked his responsibilities and left that poor shipwrecked lad to shoulder the rest of the work. So I waited by the stables for him to show up, and when he did I gave him a good tongue-lashing. He's busy giving the whole stables a good washing, at the moment."

Hiccup nodded sagely. "I see. Well, I can't say I didn't expect this." He turned to his father now. "So now, I can ask my question. I can only imagine that Snotlout won't be at liberty to join the twins on their patrol tomorrow morning -"

"He isn't, of that you can be sure!"

"- we need to figure out a replacement." Hiccup finished.

Stoick crossed his arms across his broad chest. "And you can't assign one of the other riders?"

Hiccup kept his even expression with some effort. His father didn't know how confrontational he could be without trying. Or, maybe he did.

"No, they have their own responsibilities they have to look to. Astrid and Heather have their combat training, Fishlegs is holding a lecture for the junior riders at the academy…"

"What about you?" Gobber wondered aloud. "Couldn't you go with them?"

"I… could... " Hiccup said, reluctantly. He looked his father in the eyes."But, I figured that I would be busy with lessons of my own."

"Oh, is _that_ so? Why, when you avoided me all day today?"

"I wanted a day to myself to decompress and relax before… all of that." Hiccup explained, hoping his reasoning didn't sound as lame as it did to himself. "You know all that talk of chiefing makes me uncomfortable."

Stoick's expression softened some, and he dropped his gaze to the side. "Aye, I guess I can't blame you for that."

"So, here's what I was going to ask you, dad: what do you think about allowing Harrow to go with the twins on their patrol?"

"Harrow?" Stoick echoed, his brow furrowing ferociously, fixing his gaze on his son again. His frown was deeply thoughtful, though. "Why him?"

"He's not even a dragon rider!" Spitelout interjected.

"Well, how much more do you have for him to do around the village?" Hiccup asked. "He's gaining his strength back and he seems a touch restless, to me. He doesn't want to be a burden on us, wants to make a contribution. So I figured, why not give him a glimpse of how things work on Berk? You know, how dragons and viking work together?"

"I don't know, Hiccup." Stoick said, dubiously. "He's only been here a few days. We know next to nothing about him. Perhaps after we have had some time to get to know him better, I'll allow it."

"So it's a matter of trust, then?"

"Aye, it is."

Hiccup fixed his father with a serious look in his eyes. "How is he supposed to show he's trustworthy if we don't give him the chance to prove himself, dad?"

"Well, by performing a service for the tribe, for Berk." Stoick replied, sounding like it was obvious. "Like when he helped Spitelout today."

Hiccup, not to be easily beat, turned his gaze back to his father's second. "And what's your opinion of Harrow?"

"Honestly, I can say that I wasn't too keen on him, to begin with." Spitelout said. "But, he saw the job through to the end. Which is more than I can say for my own son!"

"And what about you, Gobber?"

"I'm not too keen on him, either." Gobber groused. "He has no respect for his elders!"

Spitelout looked at him sidelong, smirking. "What are you on about? He seemed rather respectful to me, earlier."

"No respect, I say!" Gobber cried, banging his mug attachment on the table, sloshing mead over the brim and onto the tabletop.

"Gobber, you say that about anyone younger than you." Hiccup drawled, casting a mild look at his mentor.

Stoick rolled his eyes at the blacksmith's theatrics. Gobber was a well-known curmudgeon within the tribe, always railing on about how he lacked respect. It was all hogwash anyway, considering he sat on the Chief's Council, a rather prestigious position. Stoick turned his stony gaze on his son in an effort to get back to the heart of the matter.

"Questions of respectfulness aside, you wish to offer Harrow a chance to prove himself trustworthy?"

Hiccup nodded. "I do."

Stoick gazed upon his son for a long moment, the gears in his head turning. Hiccup felt himself start to sweat, a common occurrence whenever he was under his father's unflinching study.

At length, the chief said, "Fine. I'll allow it. Honestly, I should have expected this. It was only a matter of time before you tried to befriend the lad."

Hiccup couldn't help but beam, his relief profound. "Thanks, dad!"

"Oh, don't go thanking me, yet!" Stoick warned, an evil gleam in his eye. "We start your lessons bright and early tomorrow morning, to make up for the time lost today."

Hiccup groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Spitelout and Gobber just laughed uproariously.


	8. Welcome to Berk, Part 4

Harrow woke on the next day back in the hard bed of the guest lodge. He stretched, groggy, and sat up. He had returned to the lodge the previous night late after having struck up an unexpectedly companionable conversation with the Thorston twins, Tuffnut and Ruffnut. Their tales of derring-do and mischief had elicited so many questions, and those questions only had them go on to tell of even more unbelievable escapades.

He had found himself amazed that the village of Berk still stood after all that they had done. Or, more so, that the Hooligan tribe hadn't decided to exile them somewhere far away.

Harrow yawned, swung his feet over the edge of the bed, and stood up. He went over to the hearth and prodded the smoking heap of ash within to uncover the bed of red-hot embers he had banked the night before. He held out his hands, welcoming the warmth.

There was a knock at the door behind him. The image of Gobber the Belch appeared unbidden in Harrow's mind.

The knock sounded again as he headed for the door, followed by a now-familiar rough feminine voice. "Hey! Harrow, are you awake in there?"

This was somewhat of a surprise, a much more welcome surprise than what Harrow had been expecting to deal with.

He opened the door and found not only Ruffnut, but Tuffnut as well. Without waiting for an invitation, Ruffnut pushed past Harrow. Tuffnut followed, carrying a stack of garments in his arms.

Harrow blinked, puzzled. "Uh, come on in, I guess…"

"Don't mind if we do." Tuffnut said, smirking. "We never stand on ceremony, anyway."

Ruffnut hummed her agreement and walked back over to where Harrow lingered by the door. She grabbed him by the shoulders and moved him bodily into the center of the room.

"Hey!"

"Quite your whining!" she snapped at him, "How am I supposed to get your measurements, otherwise?"

"Measurements?!" Harrow echoed, even more confused than before. "The hell are you on about?"

"Hey man, just let her do her thing." Tuffnut suggested to him breezily. "It'll go faster if you don't make her have to do things twice, you know?"

Ruffnut grabbed Harrow by the wrists and had him spread his arms out at shoulder-length, a business-like look on her face. Without facing her brother, she extended a arm and snapped her fingers. Tuffnut dropped the bundle of garments on the nearest guest bed and took a length of string from where it hung around his neck. Harrow observed that this string had knots tied into it every so often, realized it was how she intended to get her measurements off of him.

"Hold still." Ruffnut told Harrow. "No matter how much this might tickle."

She took the measuring string from her brother and held it to his left arm, wrist to shoulder. She did the same with his right. He watched as her lips moved, as she murmured under her breath, mentally making notes. Next she measured across his shoulders. Then it was from his shoulders down to his waist. He gasped in surprise as she walked around him and embraced him, her front flush to his back, resting her chin on his shoulder as she measured around his waist.

This went on for a few moments more as she got his leg measurements. When she was finished, she handed the string back to Tuffnut, who offered her a little book and a charcoal stick. She wrote down the measurements she must have held in her head, her tongue stuck out to the side in concentration.

"Alright, that's done." Ruffnut intoned cheerily, pocketing the little book. "Thanks for being such a good sport about it, Harrow."

"Uh, yeah… no problem." Harrow muttered, wondering why his heart was racing. "But, was it really necessary to spend so much time on the, uh... inseam?"

Ruffnut gave him a dirty grin and a wink. "Wouldn't want to make things too tight, now, would we?"

Tuffnut groaned. "Thor! Control yourself, woman!"

"Oh shut your mutton hole, Tuff." Ruffnut snapped back at him. She tossed Harrow another sidelong glance. "It's all in good fun, anyway."

"Yeah, but you don't have to creep him out." Tuffnut protested. To Harrow he added, "Sorry, man, I've been trying to tell her about this great thing called _personal space_."

Ruffnut rolled her eyes. She grabbed the first garment off the pile they had brought with them, a fur vest, and threw it at Harrow.

"Put that on." she directed.

Harrow caught the vest, looked down at it, then looked back up at her. "What's this for?"

"Listen, we gotta get going here pretty soon." Ruffnut replied, watching him handle the vest. "Hiccup wants you to come with us on our patrol, since Snotlout is doing punishment chores for his dad, and everyone else is busy today."

"Really? Was the chief okay with that?" Harrow asked. He put the vest on and found it was just about a perfect fit, and was very warm.

Tuffnut leaned by the door. "Must be. Hiccup wouldn't have told us to come get you, otherwise. Or, we _could_ totally be going behind Stoick's back again. It _is_ easier to ask forgiveness rather than permission, as they say."

"That does make, uh… some sense."

"Here, try these on while you're at it." Ruffnut told Harrow, pushing a few more items of clothing from the pile into his chest. "We're going to be flying, so we need to make sure you're dressed warmly enough. It can be pretty damn cold up at cruising altitude."

That statement made Harrow freeze. "So, wait… I'm getting on an actual, real-live, honest-to-Thor _dragon_?"

"Yeah." Ruffnut drawled, eyeing him. "Is that a _problem_ for you?"

"Ah, no… er, only I've never flied before…"

"Don't worry abou it." Tuffnut said amiably, waving a hand. "There's really nothing to it. We'll take care of the hard part, you'll just be able to sit back and enjoy the ride. There's really nothing like soaring through the air, hundreds of feet off of the ground, with nothing between you and a long fall to your death!"

Harrow simpered, found his mouth suddenly dry. "Heh. Oh, uh… shouldn't we go and eat, first? Wouldn't want to go on a patrol on an empty stomach, am I right?"

Ruffnut shook her head. "Nah, bad idea. We'll take some stuff with us, but you really don't want to load up and then find out you can't handle turbulence."

Tuffnut grimaced. "Yeah, Barf and Belch really don't like it if you're, uh… barfing over the side…"

Harrow groaned. "Hel's teeth…"

"Hey, hurry up and get those things on!" Ruffnut snapped at him. "We ain't got all day!"

Harrow shot them a look. "Fine! Wait outside, if you don't mind."

Ruffnut leered at him. "Where's the fun in that?"

Tuffnut sighed, long suffering, and grabbed his twin by the shoulders and steered her out the door, shutting it behind him. From beyond the door came the muted sound of him catching a fist to the face, courtesy of his sister.

Harrow took off the things he had been wearing for the last two days and put on the new clothes, a thicker green tunic and pair of beige trousers. He put the fur vest back on over the tunic and strapped his boots back on before opening the door and stepping outside.

Ruffnut was sitting on her brother's back, his face mashed into the ground by one hand at the back of his head. "This is what you get for being a meddling busybody!"

Tuffnut whined something in reply, but his words were muffled by the presence of mud and grass.

"Alright, I'm ready." Harrow said, closing the guest lodge door behind him.

"Finally!" Ruffnut huffed, and stood up. Tuffnut rolled over and spat out a wad of dirty grass. "I'll get you for that, bride of grendel!"

Ruffnut flicked her fingers dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, you're all talk. Get up and quit fooling!"

"Here." Harrow offered the male twin a hand up, which he gratefully accepted. Tuffnut looked Harrow over and remarked, "Hey, looking sharp, buddy."

"Thanks… I guess."

They fell into step, Ruffnut at the lead, Harrow, and then Tuffnut bring up the rear. They made their way through the village, turning towards a causeway that led to a stone enclosure with a great reinforced wooden gate at the bottom of a broad ramp. The sounds of dragons calling and moving around rose from the structure, which Harrow surmised was the aforementioned stables.

The smell of dragons hit him as soon as he mounted the ramp, wafting up the passage with the breeze. A sort of dry musky odor with hints of sulphur and something indefinably earthy. It brought back memories of being on the Dragon Hunter ship. The scent wasn't exactly the same, it didn't reek of blood, fear and pain as it did before, but it was enough to stop him cold in his tracks.

Tuffnut, not paying attention, walked right into him and bounced off. "Whoa!"

Ahead, Ruffnut turned around to see what was going on with them. She noted the look on Harrow's face, the expression that had come unbidden to his face.

"You're not afraid, are you?"

Harrow bristled at her tone, snapping himself out of the reverie that the smell of dragons had put him in. "No! It's just… the scent of dragons brings back memories, that's all."

"Getting hungry?" Tuffnut asked, hanging off of Harrow's shoulder like an old friend.

Harrow shoved Tuffnut away with a glare. "Poking fun at the whole _eats dragons_ thing, huh? You realize that happened about _three hundred years ago_ , right?"

"Well, better get used to the smell." Ruffnut told him without an ounce of sympathy. "It only gets stronger from here on out."

"Helps to cover _other_ smells." Tuffnut quipped, grinning. "You could eat as much boiled cabbage as you wanted to before going for a flight, and no one would be the wiser!"

Harrow grimaced, took a step away from the male Thorston. "Duly noted..."

Beyond the gate, the dragon stables opened into a large circular stone arena. Fishlegs was there giving a Gronkle a rub down with what smelled like lingonberry oil.

"Good morning, Tuff, Ruff." the dragon scholar greeted them. He blinked when he saw Harrow in their company. "Oh, hey, Harrow… what brings you to the academy?"

Harrow shrugged indifferently. "Here on Hiccup's orders, turns out."

"Really?" Fishlegs replied, quirking one blonde brow. "Huh, so Snotlout really isn't going with you guys?"

"Nope." Ruffnut said simply, not sounding at all upset about the fact. She sauntered over to the far side of the ring and pushed open another set of reinforced wooden doors. From what Harrow could see, there were stable stalls beyond the threshold.

Fishlegs frowned thoughtfully as he refreshed the soft cloth he was using with another coat of oil. "Okay, so no Snotlout on this morning's rotation. I guess Hiccup must have had a talk with the chief about letting Harrow help out. I'm kinda surprised that he agreed, honestly."

"Well, it was either that or let us go on our own." Tuffnut pointed out, grabbing a heap of what looked to Harrow like riding tackle. But these saddles didn't look like they were meant for horses. "Which he should have totally allowed, by the way!"

"Don't you remember the rule of two, Tuff?" Fishlegs asked, rubbing a spot under the Gronkle's chin that made it tremble with pleasure. "Two riders minimum for patrol duty, just in case something happens. No exceptions!"

Tuffnut nodded, scowling. "Right! Me and Ruff make two, I can at least figure that part out."

"Doesn't count the same for us, Tuff." Ruffnut said, reappearing from the stable's interior. Behind her ambled a massive two-headed, two-tailed dragon whose scales were the color of pond scum. The odor that wafted from the beast held a slightly fetid edge to it. It mixed with the lingering fragrance of the lingonberry oil, making for strange combination for the nose.

"Why not?" Harrow asked, eyeing the dragon with a sense of trepidation. Both heads had zeroed in on him, being the new factor in an otherwise completely familiar environment.

"Obviously because they can't trust us not to screw something up, or blow something up, or generally to just get into trouble." Ruffnut replied, somewhat resentfully. "Isn't that right, Fishlegs?"

Fishlegs simpered, withering under her pointed gaze. "Uh, well… that is, ah, certainly _one_ way of interpreting the rule…"

"How else are we supposed to interpret it?" Ruffnut asked, crossing her arms and cocking her hip. Then she threw a look at Harrow and her lips twisted into a smile. "But don't worry, Hiccup found us a suitable replacement for Snotlout."

"Yeah!" Tuffnut crowed, nudging Harrow with the back of one hand. "Wait till you get a load of flying with us! It's going… to… be… EPIC!"

"Indeed it shall, dear brother." Ruffnut purred. "But first things first, we need to introduce Harrow to our dragon." She walked over and grabbed Harrow by the arm and just about dragged him over to stand in the shadow of the two-headed beast.

"Harrow, meet Barf and Belch."

The two heads descended on their snake-like necks, each topped with a trio of horns. One central horn, much thicker and stronger than the other two, which pointed straight back from their bulbous skulls. Each head sported a pair of large yellow eyes with slitted black pupils. Said eyes were watching Harrow carefully, now, roving up and down his body. The head on the left sniffed him while the one on the right licked his face with a forked tongue.

"Uh, hey there…" Harrow muttered, wincing as the warm saliva dripped down his cheek. "Never seen a dragon like you before…"

"Barf and Belch are a Hideous Zippleback." Fishlegs supplied from where he had finished up rubbing the Gronkle down. "Guess their not common where you're from, huh?"

"Not really." Harrow replied, reaching out with his hands toward each head. They looked over his empty appendages with some curiosity. "We mostly see Scauldrons, Thunderdrums, the occasional Nadder or Nightmare. Nothing like these guys here."

"Okay, the time for the meet and greet is now officially over." Ruffnut announced briskly. "Let's get geared up!"

"Way ahead of you, sis!" Tuffnut exclaimed, dragging the riding tackle over to where Barf and Belch waited patiently.

Harrow stood back and watched as the two dragon riders went about saddling their dragon with practiced ease. Or, in this case, each rider saddled an individual head. The whole process didn't take more than a minute from start to finish.

Then, the twins swung themselves up into their respective seats. Tuffnut rode on Belch, Ruffnut rode on Barf. Or maybe it was the other way around? Honestly, it was hard to tell the two heads of the Zippleback apart.

And through it all, Fishlegs watched with a thoughtful expression. "Hey, guys?"

"What?" Ruffnut replied crossly, leaning on Barf's horns.

"Uh, how's Harrow going to ride with you? You only have two saddles."

Tuffnut blinked, scratched at his head. "Oh. I knew we forgot something..."

"It's a simple fix." Ruffnut said with a crafty smirk. "We'll double up on one saddle. And by _we_ , I mean he'll ride with _me_."

Fishlegs and Tuffnut exchanged a puzzled look between themselves. Since when had Ruffnut ever volunteered to share _anything_?. Then they both looked over to where Harrow still stood, watching.

"How about it, Harrow? That sound alright with you?" Tuffnut asked. "I mean, you could totally ride with me. That is, unless you don't mind my sister's fish-scented hair flying in your face the entire time."

Ruffnut's face colored spectacularly. "Hey, you're one to talk! Your's smells like curdled yak-milk!"

"It's moisturizing!" Tuffnut shot back, scowling. "And your hair smells like a barrel of mackerel left out in the sun!"

And there they went, off on another vitriol fueled Thorston twin shouting match. Harrow was beginning to understand just how commonplace they were on a day-to-day basis. _That_ part, at least, wasn't exaggeration.

Fishlegs shook his head. "Oh Thor, they're never going to head out on patrol at this rate."

"Guess I'll take one for the team." Harrow muttered, stepping toward the feuding dragon riders.

"Muttonhead!"

"Yak-ass!"

Ruff and Tuff had reached that inevitable point of their argument where they were reduced to simply shouting the first insult that came to their minds. They had coaxed their dragon heads together so that they were shouting in each other's face, nose to nose.

"Hey, guys?" Harrow called up to them, but they went on as if he was merely the wind.

"Bearded Goat-face!"

"Stinking Bridge-troll!"

"GUYS!" Harrow shouted. That got the twins' attention. They both looked down from where they were perched, frowning and glaring impressively.

"WHAT?!"

Harrow clamped down on his temper. He usually didn't allow just anyone to speak to him in that manner. He had killed people for less in the past. But, this was anything but usual circumstances.

So, he forced himself to calmness, and said, "I'll ride with Ruffnut, if it gets us moving."

"You will?" Tuffnut groaned, contorting his face in disgust.

"You will!?" Ruffnut looked elated, then she cast a triumphant look at her brother and crowed, "Ha! In your face, Tuff!"

Tuffnut scoffed. "Yeah, you say that now, but wait till he spews all over you when he can't stomach the stench!"

Ruffnut's parting shot was a stiff-armed punch to the face that rocked Tuffnut in his saddle. Absently, Harrow admired both Ruff's ability to dish out a punch, and Tuff's ability to take one so well.

Ruffnut was practically bouncing in her seat when she reached down and offered her hand to help him up. Harrow hesitated for a second, judging how prudent it would be to slap her hand aside and climb up on his own, but decided against it. He took her hand and was surprised at how strong her grip was. She hauled him up beside her and he managed to throw a leg over the scant bit of the saddle that wasn't occupied.

It was a strange sensation, swaying on the back of a dragon's neck. Everything else seemed so much further away, so much smaller. He wondered idly what it would be like to fight from dragon-back. The bounty-hunter in him, dormant as of late in his role as a shipwreck survivor, began to calculate the benefits of such a tactic for the future.

Suddenly, Ruffnut leered at him from over her shoulder, a crazed grin twisting her lips. "Hold on tight. It's going to be a _bumpy_ ride!"

Harrow had about a split-second to comply before Tuffnut sang out, "Up, Barf! Up, Belch!"

Barf and Belch wasted no time in spreading their wings and leaping up into the air. The twins cackled and howled their glee as the Zippleback pumped its wings and gained altitude, wheeled once around the academy, and set off on a roughly westerly heading toward the sea.

Fishlegs watched until they were out of sight, one hand raised to shade his eyes against the sun as it crept to it's zenith in the sky. "Somehow I feel like that may be the last time we ever see Harrow alive, Meatlug."

The Gronkle, who had been trying to nap through all the commotion, merely rumbled in contented agreement.

 _Madness, this is sheer madness!_ Harrow thought to himself as he clung to Ruffnut with a deathgrip. The daredevil woman didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't seem to care. In fact, by the rising flush on her cheeks, maybe she even _enjoyed_ it. That thought gave Harrow a jolt. Then, he reasoned it was more likely windburn was the culprit.

They _were_ going pretty fast. Barf and Belch, while certainly one of the heftiest dragons Harrow had ever seen in his brief experience with the beasts, still managed an impressive pace. The Isle of Berk rapidly disappeared behind them.

Below them, the waves became a blue-grey blur on the sea's surface. The wind roared by Harrow's ears and tore through his hair. His exposed skin was numb within the first twenty minutes and he felt the chill of the high air like a knife even through the thicker garments he wore, even the fur vest. The sensation of uncontrolled acceleration panicked him, he would not be ashamed to admit.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Oh no, not by a longshot. The twins goaded their dragon into a series of aerial acrobatics the likes of which Harrow had never experienced before: screaming climbs up to where the air become thin, death-defying dives almost down to the very surface of the sea, barrel-rolls and hard banking turns that nearly dislodged Harrow from his precarious perch. All the while, Ruffnut and Tuffnut whooped and laughed and carried on like it was all in good fun. They were having the time of their lives as they lunged from one maneuver to another with not a moment's respite.

For Harrow, it was perhaps one of the more profoundly frightening things he had ever experienced, even more so than some of the more close-run jobs of his life as a bounty hunter. His arms were like a vise around Ruffnut's middle and his legs similarly were locked around Barf's neck, his muscles clenched till they ached with the strain and the cold. His stomach churned, rose into his throat or fell into his toes, or knotted itself all at the whim of the dragon beneath him. He could feel his heart beating a frantic tattoo against his ribcage. He was certain that it would burst, and he'd be dead before he ever hit the water racing by far below.

 _By the Aesir, are they trying to scare me to death?!_ Harrow wondered miserably, a groan escaping from his tightly clenched jaw. He had screamed himself hoarse and now clamped his mouth shut against the rising tide of bile at the back of his throat.

Finally, mercifully, they ascended above the sparse cloud cover and the wild gyrations and sudden movements smoothed out into blessed level flight.

Tuffnut looked over at Harrow with a giddy smirk. "Wasn't that awesome?!"

"No, it was most certainly not! It was gods damned _insane_!"

"Aw, come on, you can't tell me you didn't find any of those tricks just the tiniest, teeniest bit thrilling?"

"If by thrilling, you mean horrifying?" Harrow growled, glaring. "Yeah, I found them all to be _thrilling_. Gods! I can't believe I agreed to go along with this!"

Ruffnut cackled and glanced at him over her shoulder, smirking. "Don't be such a stick in the mud, Harrow. If you didn't come with us, you could have just ended up on another ladder beside Snotlout."

She had a point, much to Harrow's consternation. "You could have at least warned me about… you know, _all of that._ "

Ruffnut cackled again. "And ruin the effect for you!? No way! Besides, it got the intended result."

"What are you talking about?"

"Let's say if you clung any tighter to me, I'd start worrying about my continued purity." Ruffnut replied, leering. "Not that I'd mind much…"

"Ugh!" Tuffnut cried, sticking out his tongue as if the very idea made him sick. Harrow released his grip on Ruffnut so fast that he nearly fell off Barf.

"Hel's teeth!" Harrow hissed, glaring at Ruffnut's back. "Why the hell do you keep saying things like that?!"

"Hey, can't a girl have a little fun?" Ruffnut huffed archly, turning to fix her eyes on the horizon. Spurned, her posture stiffened as she hunched forward in the saddle. "Sorry if the idea of touching me makes you uncomfortable!"

"It's not that…" Harrow muttered, feeling like a muttonhead at his overreaction. "I just… you caught me off guard…."

"Don't worry about it." Ruffnut replied, her tone flat, hurt. She held herself ramrod straight. "Won't happen again."

Harrow sighed, and couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt in his chest. He looked over in appeal to Tuffnut, who simply shook his head. The trio flew on for a while in uneasy silence with only the flapping of Barf and Belch's wings and the whistling of the wind.

At length, Tuffnut spoke up. "Hey, what exactly are we looking for while we're out here, anyway?"

"Dangerous wild dragons, signs of Dragon hunter presence, that kind of stuff." Ruffnut drawled listlessly.

"Oh, so… maybe we ought to check out that island down there." Tuffnut replied, pointing down and to the right of their flight path. Harrow looked and saw an island covered in dense forests with a series of mountain peaks in its interior. The coastline was ragged, sheer cliffs. Through the canopy of the forest there shone the unmistakable gleam of metal as the sunlight struck something on the forest floor.

"Huh." Ruffnut grunted, intrigued. She had picked out the telltale, too. "Excellent observation, Master Tuffnut."

"Why thank you, Lady Ruffnut." Tuffnut replied, bowing in an overly theatrical manner in his spoke like he was reading from some script, over enunciating his words. "Shall we descend to investigate, dear sister?"

Ruffnut gave a small nod. "We shall." Then that familiar twisted grin was back on her lips. "Okay, Barf, Belch, take us in!"

Barf and Belch gurgled something that might have been an affirmative and dove toward the island, furling their wings to spill the air from underneath them. Harrow bit off another curse, went to grab ahold of Ruffnut, then thought better of it. Instead, he grabbed the edge of the saddle in a white-knuckle grip.

They landed in a grassy clearing by the coastline, due south from where they had spied the unusual metallic gleam. It was a great relief for Harrow to hop down off of Barf and onto solid ground. Ruffnut shot him a glare as she dismounted, frowning. He looked away, still feeling like a complete jack-ass. How was he going to clear the air?

Tuffnut wisely decided to ignore the tension between his sister and Harrow. After all, he wanted no part of whatever mess the newbie had just got himself into. The idea of his sister potentially _liking_ Harrow made his stomach heave. "Alright, let's go see what we can see."

"Right behind you." Ruffnut said. She beckoned to their Zippleback. "Come on, Barf, Belch!"

So, with the twins leading, Barf and Belch following, and Harrow bringing up the rear, they made their way into the forest. The air was still and close within the forest's understory. The smell of leaf mould and earth was potent, rising from the forest floor. About fifty yards in, they encountered a swift-flowing stream as it snaked it's way around the roots of the trees. The moist sand at the stream's banks held a collection of imprints, some of them recent.

"Looks like dragon tracks." Tuffnut observed. "And their fresh. Couldn't have been maybe a few hours since they were made."

"Yeah, but what dragon made them?" Ruffnut wondered, crouching to look more closely at the markings. She traced the outlines with a finger, frowning.

Barf and Belch mimicked her posture, bending their necks so that they could both peer over one of her shoulders.

Harrow stood a few paces removed, looking around at the scenery. He noticed the stream flowed from further inland, which was no surprise considering the terrain in that direction rapidly ascended as one got closer to the mountains. Downstream, the stream's course took it out from under the forest's eaves and over a sheer cliff. The canopy overhead was quiet. There was no bird calls nor was there evidence of squirrels or other woodland critters.

"Times like this I wish Fishlegs was here." Tuffnut was saying. "He'd know what kind of dragon made those tracks just by looking at them."

Ruff straightened up. "Well, he isn't here, so it's up to us. Whatever made these tracks could be nearby."

"Good thing we came armed, eh?" Tuffnut said, smirking. He patted the head of a mace that he had hanging from a loop on his belt.

Ruffnut's hand drifted down to trace the head of the axe that hung from her belt. "Yeah. Who knows, maybe we'll even get into a fight!"

Harrow keenly felt the absence of a weapon of his own. "You guys don't have any backups I could use, do you?"

"Nope." Ruffnut replied flatly, not sparing him a glance.

Tuffnut was a little more helpful, pulling a short sheath from his belt. He tossed the sheath to Harrow. "Here, take my spare."

Harrow caught the sheath and pulled on the leather wrapped handle, expecting a dagger. He was sorely disappointed. "Tuff, this is an _eating knife_! What in Thor's name am I going to do with this?"

Tuffnut shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, man, that's all I got. But seriously, you need to try to come prepared to these kinds of outings."

Temper flaring, Harrow clenched his fist around the eating knife's grip. "How am I supposed to do that if the chief won't allow me to handle a weapon yet?!"

Ruffnut scoffed. "Suck it up, beggars can't be choosers!" She waved them on. "Come on, let's head upstream and see what's making that gleam."

Harrow growled, but sheathed the eating knife and stuck it in his belt anyway. He followed after them, walking just behind Barf and Belch.

They found the source of the gleam not far away, maybe another fifty paces upstream from the dragon tracks. Someone had left a trap, a contraption like a giant set of iron jaws driven by heavy springs, by the water's edge. Set between the jaws was a pressure plate. There was blood on the trap's serrated teeth, fresh on top of dried. Fresh blood congealing into old was splattered around where the trap lay as well, evidence of having been triggered on some hapless prey animal in the recent past.

"Odin's beard!" Tuffnut swore, going for his mace. "A dragon trap!"

"And that means one thing!" Ruffnut tensed, pulling her axe free as she looked around. "Dragon hunters!"

Harrow felt his stomach clench. He hadn't anticipated running into Viggo's men so soon. And here he was, without armor and armed only with a gods damned eating knife!

"Listen!" Harrow hissed, "Do you hear anything?"

All three of them were silent for a long moment. Barf and Belch looked around to either side, their two heads incredibly useful in this situation.

"I don't hear anything." Tuffnut said at length, "Maybe there are no Dragon hunters around right now?"

Ruffnut relaxed, but kept her axe in hand. "Maybe. But if they're here on this island, they're really close to Berk. We were only flying for an hour, maybe hour and a half tops."

"Too close." Tuffnut added gravely. "Very much not good."

Harrow decided to play clueless. "Who are you guys talking about?"

The twins exchanged a look and then both looked at him. "Really?"

"What? Should I know something?"

"Well, I guess not." Ruffnut sneered skeptically. "I forget you come from someplace that's the ass end of no-where."

Tuffnut jumped in when he saw Harrow open his mouth to retort, saying, "What she means to say is, the dragon hunters are an old enemy of us Riders of Berk. We thought we'd left them out beyond the Archipelago when we came back to Berk for the anniversary."

"Guess not." Ruffnut muttered. "I bet that this is all a part of some plan set up by Viggo."

"Who?" Harrow asked, playing clueless to the hilt. "He some sort of hunter bigshot?"

Ruffnut rolled her eyes and muttered obscenities while Tuffnut supplied an explanation. "He's the hunter's leader. Viggo and Hiccup have been locked in a war of wits for the ages for a while now. He's really, _really_ dangerous."

"Gotcha." Harrow muttered, and hoped he looked suitably alarmed. Of course, this as all old news for him. Viggo was a dead man, as far as he was concerned. It was only a matter of time. He motioned to the trap before them.

"So what do we do about his thing?"

Tuffnut grinned. "Why, we do what Thorstons do best, of course!"

"Uh, which is...?"

"We blow it the Hel up!" Ruffnut crowed, punching the air with both fists.

 _Of course_. Harrow thought. _Had to ask._

Ruffnut shoved him back a few steps. "Alright, back up!" Then, to her half of the Zippleback, she called, "Barf, do your thing!"

The head in question complied, spewing forth a billowing jet of noxious green gas. The gas gathered around the trap in a foul cloud, slowly expanding outwards.

"Spark it up, Belch!" Tuffnut sang out, then he and his sister both dove behind a thick tree trunk. His half of the Zippleback obliged, working it's jaws to produce a vibrant spark, which leapt out and ignited the slowly expanding cloud of fumes with a resounding _boom!_

The gas exploded into a fiery starburst. The trap was reduced to smithereens and smoking fragments of iron, some of which flew through the air like shrapnel. Harrow dove for the mould-covered ground and covered his head, praying to whichever god would listen.

"YEAH!" Tuffnut roared, dancing around like a fool. "That was epic!"

"Ahhh! I never get tired of that." Ruffnut added, dusting herself off. She looked over and smirked when she saw Harrow lying prone on the ground, eyes squeezed shut, muttering obscenities. "Do you need a new change of undies, Harrow?"

"Ha, ha, very funny. You are a riot." he replied sarcastically, lifting his head. He picked himself up and checked himself over, looking for any new holes he might have acquired. The ground where the trap had been was a shallow crater now. Water from the stream was quickly filling up the new depression.

"So, are we going to blow up every trap we find?" Harrow asked, already knowing the answer.

"Totally!" Tuffnut replied without hesitation. "It is our duty, both as Riders of Berk and as Thorstons, to consign those fiendish contraptions to a fiery end!"

"Hear, hear!" Ruffnut crowed, laughing.

"Well, just give me more warning next time." Harrow muttered.

Snorting indelicately, Ruffnut waved off his concern. "You were _fine_ , quite being such a baby!"

Tuffnut once again saw Harrow prepare himself for an angry reply, and headed him off, saying, "Come on, let's see if there are any more traps around. They're not going to blow themselves up!"

They spent an hour muddling around the western edge of the island, looking for more evidence of Dragon hunter activity. They found two more traps, one a wing binding design and the other a snout-snare. Both devices were pristine and gave every indication of having been newly installed. That fact troubled the twins for all of five seconds, before they blew each contraption to Hel with the aid of their trusty Zippleback. Then, they moved on, following the coastline north.

Harrow's stomach grumbled. Tuffnut's followed suit a second later, as if in sympathy. "Huh, guess we should eat something." the male Thorston muttered.

" _Ugh._ You men and your stomachs! Is that all you think about?" Ruffnut griped, rolling her eyes. "There could be a horde of Dragon hunters on the other side of that treeline, and you two would be thinking about yak steaks and mead!"

"Can't fight on an empty stomach, sis." Tuffnut pointed out. "Besides, aren't you hungry, too?"

Ruffnut scowled and waved him off. "I'll eat when we get back to Berk. We have to stay focused right now, got it?"

Tuffnut grinned. "Hey, you're starting to sound like Hiccup!"

"Am not!"

"Sure you are!" Tuffnut gushed, warming to his subject. "He's always denying the plainly obvious, like how tired or hurt he is. And then he's always yammering on about staying on task, or keeping our minds on the mission. Am I right? I'm totally right, aren't I?"

"Tuff, she looks like she's going to deck you one." Harrow warned dryly.

"Yeah, but that's like her default, so I'm not really worried."

Growling, Ruffnut aimed a half-hearted fist at her brother, who deftly sidestepped the attack. "Hey, here's an idea for you two muttonheads, why don't you go eat yak-shit and die?"

"Ah Ruffnut, such a kind and caring soul." Tuffnut teased. "You'll be glad to know that I brought something far, far more appealing to snack on."

Harrow quirked an eyebrow, dubious. "Dare I ask?"

In response, Tuffnut walked over to Belch and motioned for the head to bend down to him. Obediently, his half of the dragon did so, and Tuffnut flipped open a storage compartment on the side of his saddle. He produced a small leather satchel tied off with string. He fell back to walk alongside Harrow and opened the bag with a flourish. Inside, Harrow could see a mound of dried berries, shelled nuts, and clumps of toasted oats that looked like they had been drizzled with honey.

"What's this?"

"A Tuffnut Thorston creation that I'm tentatively calling trail mix." Tuffnut explained. "Give it a try, let me know what you think."

Harrow held out a hand and Tuffnut tipped the bag and poured a modest amount into his waiting palm. It looked good, and upon bringing it to his nose, smelled good. He glanced at Tuffnut, found him watching closely. He actually looked anxious about whether or not Harrow liked his "creation".

Astrid and Heather's stories about the pranks these two pulled on people came to mind as Harrow hesitated. He regarded the little pile of food more critically, wondering if this was one of those pranks. Still, he couldn't afford to alienate _both_ of the twins while out on patrol. He made up his mind to give it a shot.

In any case, he had always had a pretty strong constitution.

He popped the whole lot into his mouth and chewed. It tasted sweet and salty, with a pleasant crunchy texture from the oat clusters and nuts. His stomach took it, held it with no ill effect, and demanded more.

"Hey, this is pretty good!" Harrow marveled, jamming his hand into the bag for another handful. "What gave you the idea?"

Tuffnut grinned and looked pleased with himself. "Well, I was hungry one day, and it was still hours before nattmal. I looked around the kitchen and found all this random stuff, nuts and berries. Ruff wanted to go boar riding, so I just threw it in a bag and took it with me."

"Ruff, have you tried this stuff?" Harrow called up to where she was leading them. He took another handful and stuffed it in his mouth. "It definitely takes the edge off."

"Yeah, I've tried it." Ruffnut replied laconically. "It's alright. For something my muttonhead brother came up with, that is."

Tuffnut accepted the backhanded praise with grace. "Well, how about that idea you had last Snoggletog? You know, about freezing milk and…"

A blood-curdling roar reverberated through the forest, echoing off the trees. It froze the three Vikings in their tracks and cut off what Tuffnut had been about to say. The words died on his lips and his mouth hung open in shock, eyes bugging in his head. Barf and Belch lifted their heads higher into the air, on alert and watching for threats, assuming a belligerent posture. The roar repeated itself, and Harrow thought it came from off to the east.

Tuffnut cowered behind Harrow, shuddering. "W-what in Thor's name was _that_?"

"Whatever it is, it's big and pissed off." Harrow observed dryly, brushing off Tuffnut's grip on his shoulders. "Should we go and check it out?"

"I really, _really_ wish Fishlegs was here right now." Ruffnut muttered. "He'd know what kind of dragon makes a call like that."

"Well, he's not." Harrow snapped. "It's you and your brother, Riders of Berk, right?"

Glaring, Ruffnut sneered at him. "Yeah, and our misfit sidekick. So what?"

"So, I didn't think Riders of Berk choked up when danger presented itself." Harrow replied. "Especially not the infamous Thorston twins."

Ruffnut scowled and crossed the distance between them in two great strides till she stood almost nose-to-nose with him. When next she spoke, it was a soft deadly voice. "Are you trying to say that we're afraid?"

Harrow, no stranger to intimidation, returned her stony gaze placidly. "No, what I am trying to say is it's up to you guys to figure out what to do, since you're the experienced dragon riders here and I'm just the sidekick, remember?"

Ruffnut studied his face intently, searching for a sign that he was mocking them. Mocking _her_. She turned away when she found she couldn't read him and huffed in annoyance. "Yeah."

Tuffnut, who watched the exchange from the sidelines, breathed a sigh of relief. He had fully expected there to be blood.

The mysterious roar echoed again through the forest. All three of them exchanged uneasy looks.

"Could be a dragon in trouble." Tuffnut suggested. "What would Hiccup do in this situation?"

"He'd go and find whatever is making that noise and see if he could help it." Ruffnut deadpanned. "Like a great big sappy fool."

"Then let's go." Harrow said, taking the lead.

Ruff huffed again in annoyance and hurried to follow after him. She shoved him aside as she overtook him, regaining the point position of the group. Tuffnut sighed, and motioned for Barf and Belch to follow. He wondered how long she was going to stay upset.

The roaring repeated periodically through the forest. They had no trouble following the sound and tracked its source to a little dip between hills. There, they found another Dragon hunter trap, a very different specimen from the others. It was snout snare device composed of some kind of metal that Harrow had never seen before. But that wasn't the only thing that made it unique. This one had still had a dragon in its clutches. And not just any dragon, either.

It was a _Changewing_.

The dragon itself was roughly sixty feet long, maybe eight and a half tall at the withers. It's body had a wide, flattened oval shape, with bright red skin and had a pair of delicate looking wings. Each leg ended in a claw with four long talons. It had a short neck and a head like a broad spade and had a vicious looking underbite lined with jagged fangs. A sharp looking nasal horn perched at the blunt tip of it's face and a pair of sturdy looking horns that emerged from either side of it's head like a crescent moon. It's piercing yellow eyes sat close together atop its head. Two long antennae emerged from the back of the dragon's skull and were covered in little leaf-like protrusions.

The dragon had it's snout trapped in the snout snare's jaws, clamped in a way that prevented it from opening it's jaws. There was a raw, bloody shank of venison in the dirt nearby that had obviously served as bait. The dragon roared, or tried to, and Harrow realized that was the sound that could be heard throughout the forest. It had only seemed strange and threatening because of the long distance and distortion. Up close, it sounded muffled and more than a little distressed. It thrashed and hissed, using its front claws and its prehensile tail to try and free its face from the trap's jaws. Then, sensing the presence of three humans and a Zippleback, it froze and stared.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut stopped and stared back. "Whoa!"

Harrow had heard of this particular breed of dragon before. They were an elusive predator throughout the Meridian, preying on wild boar, deer, smaller dragon breeds, and any unfortunate Viking that crossed their path.

Aside from not being particularly choosy eaters, they were known to be incredibly cooperative amongst their kind and unusually inquisitive. Harrow remembered hearing about Changewings carefully observing and then mimicking human behavior, to a degree. They usually lived and hunted in well coordinated packs arranged around family units.

And now, here was a real life exemplar of the species in the flesh. It gazed at them steadily. Harrow could imagine that the dragon was trying to figure out what they wanted, whether they were a threat or not.

"Okay, so we found out what was making all that racket." Tuffnut said, not taking his eyes off the Changewing. "What do we do now?"

"We leave it alone." Ruffnut declared. "Changewings are too dangerous. It'd try and kill us as soon as we freed it. And, with all the noise it's making, if there are Dragon Hunters about, they'll be on their way here to finish it off."

Tuffnut shrugged and turned on his heel to leave. "Fair enough!"

Harrow grabbed him by the shoulder. "Hold up. You guys are honestly telling me you'd leave a dragon to die in a trap like this?"

Ruffnut looked at him like he was the drooling village idiot. "Duh! It's a _predator_ , Harrow. It eats other animals, other dragons even! Hel, it would probably try to snack on us, if it could!"

Tuffnut nodded gravely as Ruffnut was starting back the way they had come, beckoning to Barf and Belch.

"Listen, Harrow, take it from us. We've had a lot of experience with Changewings. Trust us when we say that it's better to just let nature take it's course here."

At first Harrow seemed to understand, seemed like he was going to let it go and leave with them. But then he abruptly turned on his heel and started to approach the Changewing.

Tuffnut swore. "Thor's balls! Harrow!"

"Harrow!" Ruffnut shrieked, livid, "You jack-ass son of a whore, get back over here! You do not have my permission to die!"

Harrow ignored them. He was astounded that these so-called dragon riders would be so callous in this sort of situation. Leave and let the Dragon Hunters kill this defenseless creature? Not on his watch! Because defenseless it was, with it's head immobilized and it's jaws forced shut. It couldn't flee and it couldn't fight.

It was strange, but seeing the changewing like this elicited memories of being shackled up in a Dragon Hunter cell and beaten.

The Changewing had gone deathly still. It tracked his movements with its eyes, unblinking. He thought he glimpsed the talons of its claws clench and relax, once, twice. _It was preparing to fight_ , he realized. He looked down at himself, unarmored and unarmed save for the eating knife in his belt. If it chose to attack him, it would be a quick end indeed.

But, he crept closer, hands out and open to the inspection of the dragon. It hissed, low and angry, and clenched its talons again.

He murmured to it, softly, something like a chant, "Easy, easy now… not going to hurt you… easy…"

"Don't look it in the eyes, for the love of the gods!" Ruffnut screeched. "It can hypnotize you!"

Harrow winced as the dragon snarled, shook itself violently in response to the sudden disturbance. The prehensile tail came around and swiped at him. He scrambled backwards, fell over, his heart racing in his chest.

"Whoa, whoa… easy! Easy, I'm not going to hurt you…" he chattered to the angry dragon. "Take it easy…"

"Ruff, maybe we shouldn't, uh... shout." Tuffnut could just barely be heard, speaking softly to his sister. "It aggravates the Changewing."

"Well, Harrow acting like a suicidal muttonhead aggravates _me_!" Ruffnut whisper-shouted back, angrily.

Harrow rolled his eyes. Here he was trying to free a deadly predator dragon and they were back there trying to piss it off even _more_ than it already was.

He stood up, slowly, and shot a glance back towards where the twins stood watching. Ruffnut glared at him, arms crossed. Tuffnut shrugged, smiling apologetically.

 _Lets try this again,_ he thought to himself. He addressed the Changewing again, still mightily pissed off and wary. He cooed nonthreatening words at it, and for the most part it allowed him just a tiny bit closer.

Close enough to inspect the mechanisms of the trap. The snout snare trap was designed much like all the others they had seen on the island, to trap a particular part of the dragon's body and hold it painfully against all attempts at escape.

As such, it shared some common characteristics with those of the leg snare and the wing bind, like heavily reinforced frame construction, some sort of trigger and tightly wound springs to drive the jaws of the trap.

In this case, it looked like the bait had been laid onto a pressure plate. The weight of the bait ensured the plate was depressed in the locked position, keeping the jaws open. When a dragon came along and tried to take the bait, the pressure plate popped up, unlocked the springs and the jaws slammed shut.

Right on the snout of whatever hapless dragon had been trying to eat the bait. Like this poor Changewing, for instance. Harrow wondered if by again applying pressure to the plate the jaw could be released. But, in order to do that, he'd need something to manipulate the trap. That was the safer bet. There was no way in hell he was going to try and get closer and get his own limbs into the mix.

 _That_ was a surefire way to end up needing a hook and a pegleg.

There was a tangle of fallen tree limbs nearby under a rotting tree. Some of them still looked sturdy and heavy enough to be of use. Moving carefully so as not to alarm the changewing, Harrow went over and grabbed one of the straighter limbs. Then, he went back and tried to put his plan into action.

That plan was nothing more complicated than sticking the tree limb into the trap and pressing down on the trigger plate as hard as he could. This simple plan went swimmingly well, until he realized that the trigger plate required a lot of force to move.

Harrow swore quietly to himself. He wasn't strong enough. He looked back to where Ruffnut and Tuffnut were standing alongside Barf and Belch, watching his progress anxiously. He waved at them, beckoned to them, and they emphatically signalled they weren't coming any closer. Squashing his frustration, he instead walked over to them.

"I need some help." he said.


	9. Welcome to Berk, Part 5

_**On Berk**_ …

Astrid did her best thinking with an axe in her hand. There was a kind of clarity that comes with judging the distance between oneself and a distant target. In this case, that target was a much abused oak tree whose trunk bore many divots and gouges from past practice sessions.

She gripped her axe in both hands tightly, visualizing the arc of travel, calculating how hard she would have to throw in order to reach her mark. She lifted the weapon overhead and threw, grunting rather indelicately with the effort. The axe left her hands in a whirling silvery blur, humming through the air to unerringly strike the trunk of the oak. The meaty sound of the blade biting into the old wood echoed back and the shieldmaiden smiled in satisfaction.

"Nice one." Heather, standing a few paces to Astrid's right, remarked jovially. She had an axe of her own resting on one shoulder.

"Thanks." Astrid replied, then watched as Heather performed a throw of her own to similar results.

Both women had been pitching axes at the poor old oak for a couple of hours now, after having finished daggmal at the Great Hall. The weather was fair, if a bit brisk. It was still late winter, after all. As a result they had indulged themselves in a friendly sparring match to warm themselves up, get the blood flowing. That exercise ended predictably, with Astrid just barely able to claim victory over the raven-haired warrior maiden.

They were close in skill, anyone could tell you that, but Heather had the tendency to overcommit when on the attack. Astrid, never one to simply ignore an opponent's mistake - even if it was a friendly bout of sparring- capitalized on the way Heather left herself open.

Now they were relaxing with one of their favorite pastimes, namely axe throwing. It was only the two of them in their little clearing, the rest of the dragon riders busy with their own chores and activities around Berk. Fishlegs at the academy holding his lecture for the junior riders, Snotlout performing his penance for his father, the twins out on their patrol rotation with the stranger, Harrow.

It was good to be able to run through that checklist in her mind and know that all was well. But, as was often the case of late, Astrid found her mind wandering to thoughts about how Hiccup was fairing with his father's chiefing lessons. Actually, it would be more fair to say that her mind simply wandered to thoughts of Hiccup, period.

That by itself wasn't unusual. He was her friend, perhaps her best friend, and was often in need of her protection from one thing or another. Even with a Night Fury at his side, that man always found himself a new way to get into trouble.

Like this bounty on his head, for instance. The other dragon riders weren't as concerned. In fact, the twins and Snotlout thought it was all a good joke, something to poke fun at to get Hiccup's goat. Fishlegs cautiously shared Hiccup's opinion that nothing bad could happen as long as they were on Berk.

But Astrid wasn't so sure about that. There was a nagging sense of impending doom, something that had popped up since they had to fight off a band of bounty hunters while out foraging for supplies near the Edge. She felt the need to be extra vigilant. She watched her surroundings more carefully than she would ever have had to before on Berk.

Her instincts told her that the anniversary celebration would be the catalyst if something were to happen. There would be visitors coming to Berk for the celebration, relatives of Hooligans who lived with other tribes on other islands, people who Astrid didn't know very well. They might be capable of anything, even attempting to collect the bounty on the heir of the tribe.

There was also the question of the merchants that had been coming and going for the past three days, bringing goods and supplies for the celebration. Many of those traders had been vouched for by Johann as harmless. Yet Johann had been wrong before when it came to judgements of character, and he freely admitted that there were some traders in the latest convoy that he couldn't say he knew very well personally.

And then there was the recent addition to the village, the stranger from the sea, Harrow. He was an odd one. Somewhat distant, a tad reserved. He always seemed to do more listening and watching than talking, though he seemed to get along fine with Ruffnut and Tuffnut. Then again, he'd only been on Berk three days, so he hadn't yet received the full Thorston treatment. Astrid wondered how he was faring with the twins on patrol. Maybe his stance towards them would change.

"Midgard to Astrid!" Heather said, her voice breaking into Astrid's train of thought. A hand passed before Astrid's eyes, and she blinked.

"Oh, uh… sorry, Heather. I guess I was off in my own little world." Astrid said, smiling sheepishly. "Did you say something?"

Heather smirked at her, put a fist to a cocked hip. "I said, it's your turn to throw."

Indeed, it looked like Heather had made another excellent throw, the axe buried to the bit in the battered trunk. Astrid looked down at her hand and was surprised to see she held her axe. She blinked again, trying to remember having walked over to retrieve it.

"Are you okay?" Heather asked, frowning.

"I'm fine." Astrid replied, giving her head a brief shake. "I've just been thinking lately."

"That's dangerous to do when your hurling edged weapons around, you know." Heather joked, watching Astrid address the target, aim, bring her arms up in the act of throwing. "Could put out someone's eye if you're not careful!"

Astrid threw, another perfect release. The blade of the axe made contact with the tree and bit deep, the handle quivering. "Yeah, maybe."

"Copper for your thoughts?"

"You can probably guess." Astrid said, watching Heather walk towards the tree to reclaim their axes.

Heather jerked her axe from the tree easily, then laid a hand on Astrid's and frowned when it wouldn't budge. "You're still thinking that Hiccup ought to tell his father about the bounty on his head?"

"Yep." Astrid replied, and smirked when Heather still couldn't pull the axe from the tree on her second try. "I think he's being a muttonhead. Stoick ought to know, not just because he's the chief, but because he's Hiccup's father."

"True, but Hiccup is every bit as stubborn as Stoick. If he thinks he can handle it, he won't breathe a word of it." Heather said, then sighed in frustration. "I think you're going to have come get this axe on your own, Astrid."

"I did seem to put a little more _muscle_ into that particular throw." Astrid mused proudly, walking over to stand beside her friend. She reached up, and with some difficulty, managed to pluck the axe from the wood of the tree.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"Uh, not throw it so hard next time?" Astrid ventured, shrugging.

Heather chuckled lightly. "Not that, Astrid. What are you going to do about Hiccup keeping information from his father?"

Astrid frowned. "Nothing, I guess. Against my better judgement."

"Probably a wise decision." Heather agreed. "He's an adult, can make his own decisions and can face the consequences."

"And we can always help him pick up the pieces when it inevitably goes awry." Astrid added wryly.

"Should we keep throwing axes, or do you want to do something else?" Heather asked. "We could go get Stormfly and Razorwhip, maybe practice our routine for the celebration?"

Astrid gave her a mild look and a smile. "Do you think we need anymore practice?"

"Not really." Heather replied, "Do we really need a reason to go for a flight, though?"

"Nope!"

So Astrid and Heather shouldered their axes and left the clearing that had become their personal training ground in the forests outside the village. On their way back, they passed the village center with its decorations and banners. There were three knots of villagers scattered around. One party of villagers was industriously working on a stage for the official speeches that would be made in order kick off the anniversary celebration. Another group, mostly of Hooligan men, were hauling freshly felled logs over to where a bonfire was being constructed for the evening of the anniversary.

The last group was composed of merchants from both the village and from the trade convoys. Amongst them was the familiar figure of Trader Johann, chatting amiably, telling jokes, and maybe recalling one of his infamous long-winded stories. He caught sight of Astrid and Heather as they were making their way through the village center and excused himself from the conversation.

"Ah, Miss Astrid, Miss Heather! So good to see you once again!" Johann greeted them, bowing elegantly.

"Hey, Johann." Astrid replied, smiling warmly. "How are things out in the trade lanes?"

"In a word, marvelous!" Johann crowed, pleased. "I did a brisk business in Freezing-to-Death, hired some new hands, and overhauled my old ship. Then when I heard you Hooligans were preparing to celebrate your four hundred year anniversary, I knew I just had to come and offer my congratulations."

"And turn a healthy profit." Heather added dryly.

Johan laughed merrily. "Oh, yes, guilty as charged! After all, that is part and parcel to being a brother of the Free Traders. I come bearing a cargo of exotic foodstuff, rich mead, and heady wine."

"That sounds great, Johann." Astrid told him. "I'm sure we'll need every crate and barrel before the end of the celebration. Stoick did say he was expecting a great turnout."

"Aye! When I left Freezing, there was a great throng of ships from all over the Archipelago, preparing to set sail for Berk." Johann explained, stepping to the side to allow a pair of burly Vikings carrying a felled log to pass.

"Berk's anniversary promises to be an event worthy of song and tale, I do say. I can almost assure that there will be a surfeit of victuals. I hope that the entertainment will also be suitably memorable."

"I think we can all agree on that." Heather remarked, sharing a look with Astrid. "We dragonriders have a pretty impressive routine prepared for our part of the celebration."

"Truly?" Johann inquired, eagerly. "Perhaps a display of death-defying aerial acrobatics?"

Astrid favored him with an enigmatic grin. "Something like that."

"We're not going to give anything away just yet." Heather added.

"Fair is fair, I suppose." Johann replied, somewhat disappointed. "I shall await with baited breath, then, for the celebration. Now, what news from the village of Berk since last I made port here?"

"Well, nothing too out of the ordinary." Astrid explained, shrugging. "The Dragon Academy has a junior class, now."

"A fine notion, that there should be a new generation of young adventurers." Johann remarked. "What else?"

"Oh, and Mulch and Bucket brought in a shipwreck survivor." Heather added. "A young man about our age. Goes by the name Harrow."

"Harrow?" Johann echoed, his face clouding with thought. "That name sounds familiar to me, but I can't for the life of me remember why…" He regarded the two young women with a shrewd gaze. "Did he mention where he hails from?"

Astrid and Heather exchanged a look, then Astrid spoke up. "Yeah, he said he came from the Songless Isles, somewhere beyond the Archipelago and far to the northeast in the Meridian."

Johann's face darkened. "The Songless Isles, you say? Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure." Heather assured him.

"Is there something we should know about these Isles?" Astrid asked, her curiosity piqued. And her sense of unease.

Johann pressed his lips into a thin line. "I can't imagine how anyone in the Archipelago would have heard anything, but the Songless Isles have a fell name amongst the brothers of the Free Traders. The waters around the Songless Isles are lousy with piratical raiders, reavers of the most unsavory sort. Many of our number have fallen prey to their rapacious predations in the past."

"What does that have to do with Harrow?" Heather asked.

"It may have nothing to do with this young man." Johann replied, "However, anyone who claims to hail from that unpleasant rock should be kept under careful scrutiny. The Songless Isles breed a kind of Viking long steeped in a culture of devious ruthlessness and malign subtly."

"Harrow could be something more than he seems, then." Astrid muttered, frowning. Her sense of unease sharpened. "Is that what you're saying?"

"We don't know that for sure." Heather cautioned. "He could be exactly what he appears to be. We shouldn't jump to conclusions." She regarded Astrid earnestly. "Remember, I came to Berk almost the same way."

"I know." Astrid replied. "I also remember that you were trouble the first time we met you."

Heather shot her friend an annoyed glare. "You know why I did what I did, Astrid."

Astrid nodded, smiling. "Of course. And, obviously, you've since changed."

Johann raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Ladies, I do not want to unjustly disparage this young man, whom I have never met. It could be that he is exactly as he appears, an unfortunate soul set upon by the misfortunes of the fickle sea. That could certainly be the case."

"But you wanted to warn us, just in case." Heather pointed out.

"Aye, just so. We are allies, after all. And, I would dare say, friends."

"Thanks, Johann." Astrid said. "I really appreciate you took the time to give us the heads up. Don't worry, we won't get caught off guard."

"I sincerely hope so." Johann said earnestly. Then he favored them with a hopeful smile. "Now, if you would excuse me, I need to go find Chief Stoick. There are yet more arrangements we must speak of regarding payment."

Johann bowed again and ambled off up the hill toward Haddock Hall. Astrid watched him go, her brow furrowed in thought. The trader's warning had struck a chord with the shieldmaiden. She remembered the bounty on Hiccup's head. She wondered if word of that bounty had gotten as far away as the Songless Isle.

Heather noticed her friend's stormy expression. "Now what are you thinking?"

Astrid turned to regard her friend gravely. "I'm thinking that when Harrow comes back from the patrol with the twins, we need to ask him some questions."


	10. Welcome to Berk, Part 6

_**Greetings, fellow readers and writers! I hope you are all enjoying the story so far. To those who have reviewed, I thank you for your input and encouragement. This next chapter is one of the longest by far, since there is quite a bit of action taking place. Just a heads up, so it isn't a surprise.**_

 _ **Anyway, onwards with the tale!**_

 _ **StratX88**_

* * *

 _ **Back on patrol…**_

"No, no… a hundred, thousand, times _no_!" Ruffnut cried, clenching her fists. "And in case you didn't understand, let me phrase it in terms you'd understand: _NO_!"

Harrow rolled his eyes. "Are you done yet?"

Ruffnut glared violent, bloody death at him.

Realizing a stone wall when he saw one, Harrow turned and appealed to her brother. "Tuffnut, you're a big strong Viking. Between you and me, we can easily disarm the trap. How about it?"

"Well, you aren't wrong about the strong part!" Tuffnut gloated, much to the annoyance and disgust of his sister. "However, even if we disarm the trap, what's to stop the Changewing from tearing us limb from limb?"

"Guys, you have a dragon of your own." Harrow pointed out. "Wouldn't Barf and Belch protect you?"

"Hmm, that's a good point." Tuffnut remarked thoughtfully to his sister. "We did totally overlook that fact."

"That we did." Ruffnut agreed, warily, "Pretty sure Barf and Belch wouldn't let anything happen to _us_ , their trainers and bondmates." Her lips twisted in a dark smirk as her eyes shifted to regard Harrow. "But, I don't think they'd save _you_."

"Okay, fine." Harrow grumbled. "Obviously you won't go along with my request unless I'm threatened with bodily harm."

" _Grievous_ bodily harm!" Ruffnut specified.

"Or death!" Tuffnut added, nodding enthusiastically. "Death is always good!"

Harrow sighed, shrugging indifferently. "Sure. Let's go with that. So how about it?"

Before Ruffnut and Tuffnut could answer, a horn sounded in the distance. It was answered by another horn from a different direction.

"Odin's bloody eye!" Harrow cried. "Come on, if we're going to do this thing, we have to do it now!"

At first, the Changewing became quite agitated when the three prey-who-walked-upright, two of which were armed, rushed towards it and started to jab at the trap in which it was ensnared with an overgrown stick. It thrashed and swiped with its tail, hissing threateningly. The two prey-who-walked-upright who looked alike cowered, uttering fear sounds. The scarred prey-who-walked-upright flinched, but did not flee. It made rallying sounds, trying to get its fellows back to help it.

Then, the Changewing became more curious than agitated, not that the prey-who-walked-upright noticed. They did not go for their weapons, nor were they overtly aggressive, so the changewing sat tight and observed their efforts.

Curious, indeed. With all three of them leaning on the branch, putting their meager weight together on one point, the pressure plate gave way suddenly. There was a sharp click as the springs eased their tension on the jaw. Sensing the painful pressure on it's snout dissipate, the Changewing shook the trap's jaw off its face.

Then, rather than pounce upon the prey-who-walked-upright like it would have under normal circumstances, the Changewing jumped backwards, putting distance between the them and the two-headed dragon that tolerated them.

It eyed each of them, dismissing the two that looked too much alike. They had seemed ready to leave the Changewing to its fate.

But the one with the scar, that one had shown that it was _not_ afraid to come closer. It had figured out the trick with the tree branch. It had _freed_ the changewing, even though it smelled like prey and must have known that a Changewing was a predator.

There was something strange about this one. It was _different_.

A horn sounded, much closer than before. Seconds later, the companion horn responded in kind. Distant shouts could be heard, rough voices calling back and forth, extolling each other to look sharp and ready their weapons.

The Changewing sniffed the air and smelled old blood and death on the wind. The upright-prey-with-teeth, who were utterly insane and a threat to a lone changewing in open conflict, were approaching. Many of them. Too many.

With one last look at the scarred one, the Changewing turned and crawled into the forest underbrush, its scales shifting to mottled green and brown.

It vanished with barely a sound.

"What a total rip off!" Ruffnut shrieked, waving her arms, incredulous and outraged. She stalked toward Harrow, hands clawlike. "Why isn't that dragon tearing you _limb_ from _limb_!? Where is the _grievous_ bodily harm!?"

"Hey, do you even _know_ the meaning of that word?" Tuffnut inquired, off-handedly. He hoped to disarm the situation.

"Not helping, Tuff." Harrow deadpanned, taking a step back from the irate Viking woman who was approaching him. "And Ruff, I don't know what to say, maybe the Changewing had a better idea? Like, you know, avoiding the incoming gang of Dragon hunters converging as we speak on our location?"

"Oh sure, change the subject! With your damn _facts_!" Ruffnut groused. "You're getting some bodily harm, whether it's by a dragon or my own bare hands. Mark my words!"

Harrow waved her off. "Yeah, yeah…"

"Uh, guys… it sounds like those hunters are getting closer!" Tuffnut frantically reminded them. "Shouldn't we try and uh, you know… HIDE?!"

"UGH! Fine!" Ruffnut growled, she shoved her brother along and grabbed Harrow by the arm. She chose a particularly dense section of wild brush nearby the dell between the hills, which also happened to be filled with bramble weed and pricklers, and barge their way into its midst.

Thankfully, the brush swallowed them like a fog bank. Even Barf and Belch managed to hunker down within its confines, with only the tips of their tails poking out and looking for all the world like fallen vines.

Ruffnut had landed on top of Tuffnut and Harrow in the press for cover, and unfortunately her weight pressing down on them also pressed them down onto some particularly thorny bits of the bush.

"OW! OW! Ruff, ease up! I'm a Thors-damned pincushion down here!" Tuffnut loudly complained, trying to shift himself away from the sharp and pain.

"And while you're at it, quit digging your elbow into the middle of my back!" Harrow added.

Silently, Ruffnut clapped a hand tightly over both of their mouths.

The dragon hunters had just arrived in the dip between the hills, mere feet away from where the three hid with their dragon.

Harrow could just barely see through the tiny gaps in the leaves, vines, and branches before his face. He watched as two gangs of rough looking men, Vikings judging by their size and mostly fur-and-hide clothing, approached the disarmed snout snare trap cautiously. One group of three approached from the east while the other group of three approached from the south. All of the men were heavily armed, with some wearing swords belted at their waists and others bearing heavy axes on their shoulders.

"Where is the bloody beast?" One hunter, a big snaggletoothed brute of a man, wondered. "By the way it was hollering and carrying on, it should be right here!"

Another hunter, a hatchet-faced man with beady eyes, crept up to the trap to note the claw marks and gouges in the soft soil around it. "It was here, lads! Look here, and here! This trap had it, sure as Thor rides the storm!"

"Well, we were pretty sure about that." A third hunter, bald as a goose egg and big as a mountain, remarked snidely, to the grumbled agreement of his fellows. "The real question is, where in Hel's cursed name did it get off to?"

Snaggletooth, as Harrow mentally labeled him, asked, "Is it possible the beast broke the trap? Freed itself and flew away?"

Hatchet-face sneered at him. "What? A dumb beast of the wild, figuring out a Viking trap? Quit drinking the green mead, it makes you daft!"

That elicited a round of snide laughter from the other hunters, much to the chagrin of Snaggletooth. He pressed in on Hatchet-face, his face a picture of rage. "Oh, then how would you explain this empty trap, eh?"

Hatchet-face wasn't deterred in the slightest. "We all know sound bounces like crazy in the forest on this island. Mayhap the dragon got stuck in one of the other traps, could be half way on the other side of this Thor-blasted rock."

Snaggletooth put a hand to his blunt chin, stroked it thoughtfully. Harrow could almost smell the smoke from the gears turning in his head. "Aye, mayhap…"

Big Baldy was poking around the trap while the debate went on. He stepped on the tree limb, which rolled underfoot, and he stumbled. He looked between the limb and the trap, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as his Viking brain struggled to connect the dots. It took a while, but eventually he made the cognitive leap. "Gents, I think that dragon had help."

"Oh, do you know?" Hatchet-face drawled skeptically. "Go on, tell us! What kind of help, pray tell?"

"Look here, this branch." Big Baldy picked up the tree limb, hefted it to get a feel of its weight. "This branch is heavy enough to have been used as a counterweight on the trigger plate."

He threw the limb aside carelessly and looked around at his compatriots. "Thus disarming the trap. No dragon I know of would be smart enough to have figured that bit out on its own. I think we have some guests to our happy little part of the Archipelago."

"Some filthy dragon-lovers, mayhap?" Snaggletooth suggested with a leer.

"Aye, I'm thinking of some Thor-blasted Hooligans, in particular." Big Baldy replied, to some derisive jeers from the rest of the hunters at the expense of said tribe. "The island of Berk isn't far away, and we know that's where those gods-damned dragon riders come from. The more I think about it, the more I think we have some of those same dragon riders around here somewhere, having a bit of sport with us."

"Could be that they're here to sabotage our hunting!" Hatchet-face cried in outrage. "We have to go warn the boss!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist." Big Baldy told him with a condescending grin. "I'll head back to the camp, let the boss know we have trouble about. You lot try and find those dragon riders. We'll look all the better if we have results before the boss has to worry about it. Sound like a plan?"

"Aye!" Roared the other hunters in unison.

Big Baldy headed back towards the east, towards the coast and the supposed camp of this band of Dragon hunters. The other group, with Hatchet-face and Snaggletooth, spread out around the trap in search of clues.

"Great, now what?" Tuffnut whispered quietly. "They're going to find us for sure if we don't do something..."

"Shut up, troll-face!" Ruffnut hissed back. "Unless you want to draw them to us!"

Harrow felt around on the ground beneath him with the palm of his hand, found a stone in the dirt, closed his fingers around it carefully. "Guys, I have an idea."

"Oh good, the _misfit sidekick_ has an idea!" Ruffnut sneered in a harsh whisper. "Your idea has turned out great so far, so why not wow us with another!"

"Glad you approve." Harrow muttered, and pitched the stone in his hand as hard as he could out of the bush.

The stone arced high over the hunters' heads and fell through the lower branches of a tree on the far end of the dell. The hunters all looked in that direction, then about at one another, whispering in low voices, strategizing and plotting amongst themselves. Then, with weapons in hand, they crept off in the direction that they heard the sound come from.

"Come on, this way!" Harrow whispered, pulling himself from under Ruffnut and out from the cover of the brush. Then, crouching low, he moved away on the opposite side of the bush from where the hunters were intently stalking the stone with their backs turned.

The twins, with Barf and Belch skulking behind in a rather incongruous manner, followed after him as silently and quickly as they could.

"Throwing a rock? _That_ was your plan?" Ruffnut whispered fiercely a moment later, incredulous. " _Really_?"

Harrow glanced back at her with a pleased smirk. "Hey, if it's stupid but it works, it's not stupid."

"Right! I mean, Ruff, that's like our family motto." Tuffnut quipped. "Hey, Harrow, where did you learn that trick, anyway?"

"I improvised on a job." Harrow explained vaguely. "I'm pretty good at avoiding getting caught when I don't want to be."

"What kind of job was this?" Tuffnut asked, genuinely interested.

"Don't worry about it. " Harrow replied shortly, hoping that he'd forget the subject before too long. He cursed himself for having brought it up in the first place. "I'm going to fall back on some old tricks to get us out of this mess. Try and keep up."

Tuffnut cackled, perhaps a trifle too loudly. "Now you're speaking my language!"

Ruffnut was conspicuously silent, pensive.

Harrow led the twins and their dragon back a ways west, then detoured south when they encountered signs of more patrolling Dragon hunters. They picked their way through the densest parts of the forest for a while, a part of the island's interior that was almost entirely enclosed by the canopy of the forest. Sounds did tend to carry strangely there, and Harrow often thought he heard something moving ahead of him as they went. It was only after they stopped and started a couple times that he figured out it was the sound of their own movement, bouncing back as an echo.

He estimated it was mid day, possibly getting on toward the third hour of the afternoon. He couldn't be sure since whenever he looked up, he just saw fitful sunlight filtering down through the leaves of branches high overhead. Harrow called a halt.

"How long was the patrol supposed to last, anyway?" He asked of the twins.

"A few hours. We should have showed up back on Berk shortly after midday." Tuffnut informed him. He shrugged when Harrow fixed him with a look. "Hey, we do goof off quite a bit."

"We're usually fashionably late getting back." Ruffnut added off-handedly.

"I ask, because I wondered if anyone would come looking for us." Harrow explained after a moment of thought. "Now that we've riled up these Dragon hunters, I don't want anyone stumbling into them. We should probably get back to the coast and head back to Berk."

Ruffnut sneered at the idea. "What, and leave these creeps here to keep trapping dragons?"

"Yeah." Harrow replied, not seeing the problem. "I mean, you were all about leaving that Changewing behind just a short while ago.'

"Well, I was doing some thinking…"

"Don't hurt yourself, sis." Tuffnut interjected, snickering. He yelped as Ruffnut soundly belted him upside the head with one hand without looking.

"As I was saying, I was thinking that maybe we should try and find out where these guys have their camp set, see how many dragons they have caged up." Ruffnut explained. "Hiccup or Astrid is bound to ask us those kinds of questions when we get back. I can almost promise you they'll want to go on a strike mission as soon as we let them know how close these dragon hunters are to Berk."

"That's… actually not a bad point." Harrow admitted reluctantly, a trifle surprised that something so _reasonable_ came from one of the twins.

Ruffnut bristled. "Of course, _I_ did think of it. What, you didn't think I was capable of something like that? That I'm not smart enough?"

" Alright, I can tell you're still upset with me." Harrow muttered uneasily. "Are we ever going to get past what I said earlier?"

"Maybe I will, and maybe I won't." Ruffnut huffed, annoyed. She pointedly turned away from him, nose in the air. "You were the one acting like an ass!"

Tuffnut caught Harrow's eye, shook his head. Harrow caught his message: _Not now, save it for later._

Harrow frowned, looked away feeling uncomfortable again. He buried that irksome feeling by thinking about Ruffnut's earlier comment. It was a sound tactical decision. The bounty hunter instinct in him was pleased with the rationale.

"Once we find the camp, we'll leave." he offered. "Agreed?"

Tuffnut nodded.

Ruffnut threw Harrow a speculative look, like she was undecided on whether or not she was going to reply. Or maybe simply whether or not she was going to be what passed as civil for Ruffnut.

At length, she nodded. "Fine."

So, after a short break in which they polished off the remaining supply of Thorston trail mix, they carefully made their way eastwards across the center of the island. They listened for the approach of Dragon hunter patrols and were gratified not to hear any sign of them nearby as they moved.

The terrain became tougher, more rugged, as they neared the eastern coastline of the island. The land gently sloped upwards into a ridgeline ahead of them in the near distance, the forest as dense as ever.

"I'm beat." Ruffnut announced suddenly. "I hate all this walking around, up and down, having to keep pushing through all these bushes! You guys go on, I'll take a short rest here."

"You sure?" Harrow asked as Tuffnut forged ahead another few steps. "Maybe Tuffnut should stay back with you."

"Nah, I've got Barf and Belch to keep me company." Ruff replied, patting the scaly side of their zippleback affectionately. Barf and Belch gurgled happily in reply. "You can take my idiot brother with you."

"Really feeling the love, sis." Tuffnut lazily deadpanned back, a few steps away. "Yep, really feeling that warm and fuzzy twin-sibling vibe."

Harrow hesitated, started to say something, then thought better of it as Ruffnut eased herself down against the zippleback's flank. He settled for saying, "We won't go far."

Ruffnut waved him off dismissively. "Go on, take your time."

Tuffnut beckoned with a wave of his arm. "Come on, Harrow, the sooner we find that camp, the sooner we can get back to Berk!"

Sparing one last glance to Ruffnut, Harrow joined Tuffnut on the ascent up the side of the ridge. The going was the worst it had been all day, with each step taken requiring them to use the trees that stubbornly grew on the slope as handholds to pull themselves along.

When they attained the top of the ridge a half hour later, they found a last line of trees growing on the thin soil of the high ground. Looking out from the ridge, they were greeted with a magnificent view of the sea and the sky. The sun rode high overhead in the early evening sky. The ridge cast a long shadow over the beach below, the one place on the island that seemed to have developed a sandy beach instead of a sheer cliff like that rest of the coast.

There they found the local Dragon hunter's camp, complete with weather-beaten canvas tents, blazing campfires, and dragon cages.

"Get down!" Harrow hissed, dropping to his stomach. Tuffnut wordlessly followed suit, noticing they were silhouetted against the declining sun.

They watched the hunters go about their late afternoon routines in camp, some gathering around campfires to converse with their fellows while others sharpened weapons, oiled armor, or fussed with the disposition of their tent. Harrow counted perhaps twenty hunters in all scattered around the camp.

"That's a lot of hunters." Tuffnut quietly remarked. "Think they've been here long?"

"Yeah, look over there." Harrow said with a jerk of his chin. He indicated a makeshift dock built on an existing collection of big stones that extended out from the beach. A Dragon hunter vessel, much like the one that he had once been kept a prisoner upon, sat anchored alongside the dock. "That's where they're loading the dragons they've caught."

"And there's the cages where they keep them locked up." Tuffnut added. "Do you see them?"

Harrow followed his gaze and nodded, frowning. "Yeah, I see them."

At the point where the makeshift dock joined dry land, there was a line of twelve iron cages. Each cruel enclosure hosted a frightened dragon who curled themselves as small as they could. Their eerie mournful cries echoed on the sea wind. Something about the plaintive sound tugged on Harrow's heart.

"Alright, we found the camp." Harrow said at length. "Let's get back to Ruffnut and Barf and Belch. We need to tell the others."

"Wait!" Tuffnut hissed, laying a restraining hand on Harrow's arm. "Something is happening down there in the camp."

Harrow stopped and looked. Just as Tuffnut had said, something had caused a commotion amongst the Dragon hunters. A band of Dragon hunters were emerging from the forest, waving and calling to their fellows at the camp.

"Looks like they caught another dragon." he observed. Then he narrowed his eyes as the dragon was forced into the open by the hunters behind it, prodding with long spears. It was a zippleback that had been snared by bolos around it's wings, both tails and both jaws. A very familiar zippleback, too.

Harrow felt his heart drop. "Hel's teeth, is that Barf and Belch?!"

Tuffnut's face fell. "Great Odin's beard, that means…!"

Their greatest fears were confirmed when Ruffnut appeared beside the captured Barf and Belch, her wrists bound. A burly Dragon hunter had one beefy hand in a vise-like grip on her left shoulder, a naked sword in the other. He was frog marching the young Viking woman ahead of him.

"Ruffnut!"

Ruffnut blamed her brother and Harrow for her current situation. She knew it wasn't entirely rational to do so, but that had never stopped her before. The Dragon hunters blundered right into where she and Barf and Belch had been resting, and before they knew what was happening, Barf and Belch had been taken out of the fight. That left Ruffnut with her axe to face down six armed Dragon hunters by herself. She fought fiercely, as was expected of a Berk Viking and a Thorston, but she was no Astrid. She couldn't beat odds like that.

Still, she did herself proud. She had injured the first two hunters to square off against her. They nursed their still bleeding wounds even now, glaring at her with undisguised hatred. If they could have killed her, they would have. But their leader, a man with a face so thin and angular that it looked like an axe, had told them to hold back for some reason.

Ruffnut thought she might know that reason, considering that the Dragon hunters were mostly men and must have been away from civilization for a long while, and she was a young, if not exactly stunningly beautiful, woman. It made her stomach churn and her skin crawl to think about it, but she wasn't so naive as to be blind to the possibility. This _was_ the Barbaric Archipelago, after all.

Still, no matter how unsavory the idea, it meant that she would live a while longer. Hopefully long enough for her idiot brother and that asshole Harrow to save her, somehow.

They marched her through the forest and around the ridge that said brother and asshole had climbed up, out of the forest and onto a long sandy beach that might have been beautiful on any other day. Up the shoreline she saw the camp that they had been searching for, swarming with more Dragon hunter scum.

 _Great. When it rains, it pours…_ Ruffnut thought dismally to herself, dragging her feet as much as she dared. The Dragon hunter who had the job of getting her to camp snarled an incoherent threat and shoved her along, a death grip on her shoulder. Barf and Belch gurgled and cooed sullenly nearby, prodded by razor sharp spear tips every time the dragon slowed down its pace. Ruffnut's heart ached for her dragon. Her rage, if she should ever free her hands and get ahold of a weapon, would be the stuff of _legends_.

As they neared the camp, more Dragon hunters approached and called to their compatriots. They jeered at her and her dragon, laughing and catcalling. She returned the favor, impugning the honor of their clans, the purity of their mothers and their general provenance and lineage with a colorful slew of language that would have made Thor himself blanch at hearing it.

The Dragon hunters, unimpressed, scowled. Axe-face stalked over and slapped her hard across the face with one grubby hand, knocking her down on her side. The blow surprised her more than hurt, having long ago grown accustomed to blows to the face and head thanks to her brother, but she did taste blood. She boldly glared back up at Axe-face, uncowed.

"You hit like a little _boy_ , you know that?" she sneered, grinning through bleeding lips.

"Keep talking, bitch, and you'll see how much harder I can strike you." Axe-face growled, his face darkening with rage. He looked to the other Dragon hunters and said, "Put her in a cage with her precious dragon. Post a double guard. She didn't come here alone, I'd wager."

They hauled her up, grabbing her roughly under her arms, and dragged her through the camp to the shoreline where they had caged their catch of dragons. Ruffnut looked saw four Deadly Nadders, six Gronckles, and a pack of six Terrible Terrors in a cage of their own huddled in a heap. They moaned and crooned pitifully, regarding the approach of the Dragon hunters with fear. The last cage was empty and was large enough to accept a full grown Hideous Zippleback and one Viking woman. The cage slammed shut behind her with a click. She turned to glare murder at Axe-face, who shook a keyring smugly at her.

"Hope you enjoy your accommodations." he gloated. "If you behave well and cooperate, you may get a change of scenery. How does that sound?"

"I'd rather go to Hel than cooperate for the likes of _you_." Ruffnut replied, scowling fiercely. She spat at his feet.

"You're going to change that tune before long, without food or water." Axe-face assured her sternly. "It's only a matter of time!"

Ruffnut, at a loss for anything more she could say or do, simply stuck her tongue out at the man as he walked away.

Behind her, Barf and Belch moaned pitifully. Ruffnut tried to soothe her dragon with her hands, bound as they were at the wrist. She looked forlornly out between the bars of the cage, searching the treeline and up on the ridge for some sign of her brother and Harrow. Her only hope, now.

"Come on, guys, _where are you_?"

Back up on the ridge, Tuffnut made every effort to get to his feet and run pell-mell down the treacherous slope in his haste to get to his sister and their dragon. His face was locked in an expression of fear mixed with anger and panic. Harrow had seen that look before on the face of every man he had ever killed. It was a haze that clouded the mind during a crisis, that subtle unmaker during emergencies. If he let Tuffnut go now down into that camp, he'd be caught or worse.

Harrow knew what he had to do. In order to save Ruffnut and their dragon, he had to first save Tuffnut from himself. So, he tackled Tuffnut about the waist, brought him down in a writhing heap, kicking and throwing elbows.

"Get off me! That's my sister down there, Thor damn it!" Tuffnut shouted, struggling harder.

"I know." Harrow replied patiently, pressing all his weight down on the other Viking. Tuffnut was not an easy man to pin, he realized. He thrashed like a wounded boar.

"But if you go down there like this, without a plan, all your going to achieve is getting locked up alongside her. Or maybe get yourself killed. Do you think either of those things is going to help Ruffnut, or Barf and Belch?"

"What do you care!?" Tuffnut cried angrily.

Harrow sighed. "Don't go there now, Tuffnut. I'm trying to help you. Seriously, I'm not going to let you up until you calm down and think this through."

"I don't see what she sees in you!" Tuffnut shouted.

"Well, neither do I, frankly." Harrow muttered. "But the longer you keep this up, the greater the chance becomes neither one of us will be able to ask her. Come on, Tuff, pull it together!"

Tuffnut struggled on for a moment longer, muttering curses under his breath. Then he sighed and went limp under Harrow. "Alright, you can let me up now."

Harrow hesitated. "Promise me you won't bolt."

"Harrow..."

"I'm not kidding. Don't be a fool, Tuffnut."

"Fine! I promise, I won't run down there." Tuffnut spat. "Are you happy now?"

Harrow rolled off him and into a crouch. Tuffnut got to his knees and glared at him. "So, what's your brilliant plan, genius?"

Harrow thought for a long moment. "Well, we won't get to where they've got Ruffnut and Barf and Belch caged without being seen, so we'll need a distraction."

"Okay, great. So what do we do?"

"What do we have for gear?" Harrow asked. "I have the eating knife you gave me, and you have your mace."

"That's not a whole lot to work with." Tuffnut pointed out sulkily. "Everything else we brought is in the saddlebags on Barf and Belch."

"I know." Harrow replied, frowning. "But there is still one option open to us."

"What, pray to the gods for a miracle?"

Harrow shook his head. "No, we do the unexpected thing. I was taught when I was younger, that oftentimes the thing that works the best in a difficult situation was the thing that no one saw coming. You follow me?"

"Uh, not really... " Tuffnut muttered, looking dubiously at him. "I think I know how the others feel when I talk now, actually."

Harrow barked a short laugh. "Okay, I suppose I deserve that." Then his expression sobered. His good eye grew cold. "Wait by the edge of the camp, out of sight. Free Ruffnut and Barf and Belch when you can."

Tuffnut regarded Harrow with a wary, puzzled expression. "What are you going to do?"

Harrow grinned wolfishly in the growing shadow of evening. "Tell me, what do you think my odds are versus twenty Dragon hunters at once?"

Tuffnut stared blankly at him for a long moment. Then a madcap grin slowly curved his lips. He slapped Harrow roughly on the shoulder in the manner of one warrior to another.

"You, good sir, are a Viking after my own heart."

Tuffnut felt like he was walking on pins and needles. Crouched low to the ground, he made his way out of the treeline and up the beach, his feet shifting in the soft sands. He hid behind a sand dune at the edge of the camp, laying flat on his belly. Ahead, the Dragon hunter's camp was illuminated by a ring of torches and a great bonfire at its center. He could see the hunters silhouetted against the light, could hear brief snatches of their speech and smell them cooking their evening meal.

Tuffnut didn't know how Harrow expected to fight against so many enemies at once. It sounded downright insane, even to him. He could only imagine one person that could do that, maybe, possibly. And she wasn't here with them.

Still, looking at the Dragon hunters going about their evening routines, thinking themselves safe, he had to admit that there was a certain unhinged brilliance to the plan. Who would expect a stranger to just walk into camp, anyway?

Tuffnut sensed rather than saw Harrow walk past his hiding place, a dark figure against the greater darkness of the sighing sea. He was not making any attempt to hide, taking unhurried strides toward the perimeter of the camp. The sentries on duty must have been instructed to focus their scrutiny on the skies above, probably watching for signs of a dragon-rider attack. They did not see his approach. They did not challenge Harrow as he past the torches that marked the edge of their camp.

Tuffnut, now able to clearly see the other man, watched him go right up to the biggest of the Dragon hunters present, who might have been the bald mountain of a man from earlier. It was hard to be sure at this distance with the flickering light of the bonfire casting weird shadows.

Tuffnut tensed, scrambling up onto his feet in a crouch, ready to move. Harrow had been spotted now. The big bald man was staring, dumbfounded, at the smaller man.

Words were exchanged. The bald man's face contorted in anger. He opened his mouth to say something, but never got the chance.

Harrow slugged him square in the jaw, rocking forward on his feet to put all his strength and weight behind his right fist. The big man went down like a felled tree, out cold. Tuffnut winced despite himself, knowing how much that must have hurt. Indeed, Harrow shook his hand, like it stung him awfully.

He didn't have long to worry about that. An alarm went up from the camp, rising in volume as more hunters realized what had happened. There was a rustle of harness and a rattle of arms.

A ring of armed hunters formed around Harrow, cutting off his escape. He knelt, knife out, and calmly dispatched the fallen man at his feet with a neat cut across the throat. He pulled the dead man's longsword from the scabbard at his hip, then settled into a fighting stance with the sword in his right hand, the bloody knife in his left. Tuffnut couldn't be sure, again because of the distance and the shadows, but he could have sworn he saw a flash of a toothy grin on his face.

The circle held for a long moment, as the Dragon hunters must have exchanged looks amongst themselves, wondering silently who would strike first against this insane interloper. Harrow didn't give them a moment further to organize themselves. He raised a battle cry and charged, weapons flashing in the firelight.

That must have been the signal. Tuffnut got moving.

Ruffnut sat in the cage alongside Barf and Belch and tried not to dwell on the situation. She tried not to think about how empty her stomach was, or how cold she was getting with the sea breeze blowing directly on her from offshore and the sun below the horizon. Most of all, she tried not to think of what would become of her if her brother and Harrow didn't save her.

That's a lot of things to try and not think about. So, in an effort to blank her mind, she stared out between the bars of the cage towards the main campfire at the camp's center. There, she picked out the figures of several Dragon hunters as they puttered around the fire, preparing their evening meal.

One giant of a man stood silhouetted against the flickering light and bellowed at the others, laughing raucously at something that was said.

Ruffnut blinked and suddenly another figure was there with the big man. It could have been a trick of the firelight as the silhouette of a smaller man just seemed to step out of the shadows, but no one save the big man noticed him at first. The big man froze in surprise.

This made Ruffnut stand up and pay attention more fully. Something was happening, now, words were being exchanged. The big man was becoming agitated at what was said to him. It looked like the big Dragon hunter was about to call for some guards, his mouth open to shout, when the smaller man suckerpunched him as hard as he could.

The smaller man leaned into the blow, giving it all that he had. The flickering light of the great campfire washed over his face and Ruffnut felt her heart leap in her chest.

 _Harrow?!_

She blinked, not sure if she had seen what she thought she had. A cry went up from the nearby Dragon hunters who had witnessed the assault. Hunters rushed from all over the camp, grabbing up weapons to form a ring around the interloper.

Ruffnut couldn't see what was going on very well now. It looked like there was going to be a fight.

Uttering a battle cry that sent pleasant shivers up and down her spine, Harrow leapt at the Dragon hunters who were surrounding him. He showed no fear whatsoever. A complete disregard for personal safety. It was exactly the sort of thing that thrilled Ruffnut to her core!

And the gods were cruel indeed, for then Tuffnut appeared out of the shadows as if by magic, and put his big ugly face right in the way of the show.

"Ruffnut! I'm here to save you!"

"Great, really awesome, bro." Ruffnut replied impatiently. "Could you possibly try and save me from about three steps to your left?"

"What? Oh, uh… sure, if that's important to you." Tuffnut mumbled, complying with her wish. "Now, come on, let's get you outta there! Where's the key for this thing?"

"What?" Ruffnut asked absently.

She was busy watching Harrow as he deftly avoided getting skewered by the Dragon hunters who surrounded him. It was an amazing thing to watch. He seemed to have a sixth sense as to when a hunter was about to thrust a sword or spear at his back, so he'd dance out of the way or turn to parry the attack just enough for it to miss. The hunters would keep after him, following him as he darted and weaved in their midst, never bothering to coordinate their attacks.

In fact, as near as Ruffnut could tell, Harrow was apparently baiting some of these attacks on purpose. He'd present what looked like an obvious opening for a thrust, then sidestep or slap it aside into some other hunter's path. That unfortunate hunter would have to throw himself aside or fall prone in order to avoid getting skewered himself, getting in the way of his fellows in the process. Some of the slower hunters did end up getting badly injured, but enough made a nuisance of themselves to keep Harrow from being overwhelmed.

Tuffnut snapped his fingers in front of his sister's face. "Ruff, I get the feeling you're not really paying attention to what I'm saying."

"I _never_ pay attention to what you're saying." Ruffnut muttered, a trifle annoyed. "And if you weren't trying to get in the way so much, you wouldn't be missing out on possibly one of the greatest displays of fighting skill I have ever seen!"

Tuffnut scoffed, stepping into her line of sight, still trying to get her to focus. "Yeah, and I'm King of the Wilderwest. Unless Astrid has suddenly shown up to kick the butts of every Dragon hunter on this island, it's not the _greatest_ display of fighting skill. In fact, I'm pretty sure she'd be mighty upset, no, downright _royally pissed_ , if we mentioned _greatest display of fighting skill_ and didn't mention her in the same breath, you know? Anyway, how about we try getting you out of that cage?"

Ruffnut growled in frustration. He just made her miss something important! There was a gout of blood, a blood _fountain_! For the love of the gods, what happened?! Was Harrow still alive? Was that a _head_ that was bouncing around, getting kicked to and fro by the combatants? Gods, this might be the highlight of the whole day, and she was missing it!

"Tuff, I really _appreciate_ what you're trying to do, _really_ , but could you maybe wait for like… I don't know, a minute?"

"Uh, no… because Harrow told me to free you as quickly as possible, because he, um… didn't know how long he'd last against all those hunters." Tuffnut said, shaking the cage door. It felt like if he gave it a good jostling it would pop open. "I know, I know... we're being a pair of party poopers, here, but we really probably should get you and Barf and Belch out of there."

Ruffnut sighed in resignation. Maybe her bonehead brother was right. After all, if she could get out of the cage, that meant she could view the action from other angles.

"Fine! One of the hunters has the key on him."

"Okay, which one?"

"The one with a face that looks like the blade of an axe." Ruffnut replied.

Tuffnut blinked in utter bafflement. "Say what now?"

"One of the hunters has a face so thin and sharp, it looked… to me… like he had an axe for a face!" Ruffnut exclaimed with a diffident shrug.

"Uh huh, I see… and where is Mr. Axe-face now?"

Suddenly, Ruffnut's gaze fixed on something over Tuffnut's shoulder, and her face fell. Barf and Belch trilled a panicked warning.

Tuffnut cringed, now noticing too late that another shadow overcast his own. "Ah, crap."

Harrow was torn. On the one hand, he had missed the rush of battle dearly. He had always had a knack for fighting in the same way that some people had a knack for whittling or knitting. On the other hand, he usually took every precaution that the fight was tilted firmly in his favor before he ever drew a weapon. Fair fights were for suckers.

This situation was entirely novel for him. One man facing off against ten opponents, not a one of them armed the same, attacking from multiple angles one after the other.

That last fact was his saving grace. The Dragon hunters were not professional warriors, and thus they treated the affair like a series of individual duels rather than coordinating their movements.

They could have killed him easily if they had thought it over. Crossbows or thrown spears would have made short work of him, shieldless and unarmored as he was.

Really, when one got down to it, he shouldn't have even been able to just casually saunter into the camp and execute the biggest hunter.

These guys were utterly _sloppy_.

Still, the whole ordeal was nowhere near easy. From the moment the hunters surrounded him, Harrow's mind and body worked in overdrive. The lessons drilled into him early in his life returned with a vengeance.

 _When the enemy hesitates, strike! His indecision is your opportunity!_

The Dragon hunters hesitated, waiting for one of their number to step forward and butcher the upstart stranger. Harrow decided the matter for them.

 _Strike only as hard as you have to! Don't hold the sword too tightly, either! The sword is an extension of your arm, the handle and your hand are another joint! Let it pivot! Let it twist!_

The Dragon hunter whom he sprang at was startled when the unarmored young man with the fierce scar leapt at him. Harrow anticipated the man's hurried sword stroke, deflected it with a deft twist of the sword in his right hand while he lunged forward with the bloody eating knife in his left. The man's cry of fearful surprise turned into a wet gurgle as the knife slammed in under his chin and ripped his throat open.

Backing away from the dying man, Harrow sensed a presence to his rear, coming from the right. One of the hunters was trying to capitalize on the blind spot created by Harrow's bad eye. The hunter thrust his spear with a grunt.

At the last moment, Harrow whirled, snapping the dagger down to slap the oncoming spear head just a fraction out of line. The spear head cut a neat line across the outside of his left thigh.

Harrow didn't gasp at the unpleasant feeling of cold iron kissing his flesh. Instead, he followed through with maneuver he had started, slashing with the sword with a flick of his wrist. The spearman howled, reeling back on unsteady feet. His eyes were a bloody ruin.

Harrow took a step and kicked the unfortunate man squarely in the stomach. He fell into the path of two other Dragon hunters, who tripped and fell hard as the wounded man thrashed and writhed at their feet. Another man charged from the left, axe up high. Harrow reacted without thinking, and struck the man's head from his shoulders. The head bounced to the ground and rolled away as the body fell, spraying hot blood everywhere. The Dragon hunters cleared away in horror.

Then, rather than taking this as an opening to escape, like any other sane person would have done, Harrow went on the offensive again. Rather than fear the weapons of his foes, he attacked them. Iron clashed with iron. He unnerved his enemies when he acted not like prey, but like a predator, and they hesitated. Harrow marveled that, once again, the lessons of his youth rang true.

 _Hesitate, and you are lost!_

 _When you are unsure, trust in your iron! Good iron will never want for surety!_

Step, parry, lunge, step, parry, slash!

Harrow fought like that for several long minutes, seizing the initiative from the hunters one after another, but never having the time to go for a sure kill. All the while, his skin prickled and his muscles tensed, waiting for the inevitable cold kiss of iron to deal him a serious wound. He strained his ears to listen for the telltale sound of a crossbow being spanned. It would only take one good shot to end the fight.

Suddenly, he heard the sound he dreaded. "Aim!"

Harrow felt his heart leap into his throat. The sweat that coated him turned cold. Through the press of the enemy, he could see a line of three men with crossbows of iron and oak. They stood only twenty feet away and they had already spanned and loaded their quarrels.

"Loose!"

Just as he heard the clack of the crossbows as they fired, Harrow grappled his latest foe and managed to use him as cover. The man's frame was of typical Viking construction, muscular and stout. He would do in a pinch. The sound of the impacts was grotesque as he took the three iron quarrels across his broad back, jerking like a puppet whose strings were being pulled. He made a little choking sound, eyes bugging in their sockets and went limp in Harrow's grip.

The crossbowmen cried out in dismay. The man commanding them bellowed at them to span and reload.

Wincing, Harrow let his impromptu human shield go and looked around. The Dragon hunters around him backed away in a hurry, now getting the general idea. The crossbowmen would ventilate him. They would only give him another opportunity to take cover.

Harrow cursed under his breath. He had killed two and maimed five more in various ways. That left thirteen able-bodied Dragon hunters still in the fight, three of which were already leveling their gods-damned crossbows for another volley. He felt the icy cold gaze of death as he ran for a nearby stack of crates, lunging into a dive as the crossbows loosed.

He made it into cover, but only just barely. He felt a tug when he tried to get to his feet and found that one quarrel pinned the ankle of his right pant-leg to the ground.

The man serving as the hunter's leader cried out, "We have him now, lads!"

A ragged cheer went up over the moaning and crying of the injured.

The tide was turning. Harrow could feel it in the ebb of the battle high and the pain of a half dozen shallow cuts and bruises. He couldn't quite catch his breath. Somewhere in the scramble for safety he'd lost the eating knife. The sword had been badly notched in a couple places.

Time to take a moment and consider just what the hell he was doing.

In fact, it was time to take a moment and see just where the hell Tuffnut was. If he hadn't freed Ruffnut and their zippleback yet, they were swiftly running out of time. He figured that they had to have run into trouble.

Which, unfortunately, meant he needed to buy them more time.

Tuffnut screamed in a manner than was totally not fitting with his warrior heritage. Or his warrior self-image. Axe-face roared in reply, an incoherent sound of rage. He had a sword clenched in two fists over his head.

Ruffnut watched in alarm as her brother froze at the sight. "Tuff, move!"

The sound of his sister's screechy voice, Tuffnut ducked. The sword struck an arc of sparks from the bars of the cage over his head.

"You filthy dragon-riding scum!" Axe-face shrieked. "I'll teach you to show your faces around here! I'll wear your tongues as necklaces, and have your guts for a belt!"

He swung again as Tuffnut scurried away and ducked around the other side of the cage. Tuffnut fumbled at his belt to free his mace. He kept his eyes fixed on Axe-face, who was stalking around the cage after him.

"Where you think you're going, whelp?" the Dragon hunter taunted, smiling viciously. "It'd be easier for us both if you simply stood still so I could lop that silly head from your shoulders!"

"Hey!" Tuffnut cried indignantly, forgetting his fear for a brief moment. "My head is not silly! I'll have you know that some say it's rather handsome, in a rakish and rogue-like way!"

Ruffnut scoffed from inside the relative safety of the cage. "Tuff, no one says that!"

Axe-face merely lunged in reply. "Aaarrrgghh!"

Tuffnut let out another unmanly squeal and jumped back, the point of the Dragon hunter's sword dangerously close to his stomach. Instinctively, he swung his mace. He slapped the sword sideways against the bars of the cage. The impact shivered the blade in the Dragon hunter's hands and he dropped it, hissing in pain as his hands began to bleed. "Gah! You little yak-shit!"

Surprised at his apparent skill, or more likely, his luck, Tuffnut favored the seething Dragon hunter with a haughty smirk. "How'd you like that taste of Thorston iron, eh? I can arrange another for you, free of charge!"

"Aye, keep flapping your jaw, boy." Axe-face growled, testing his hands. They looked a terrible sight but didn't seem broken. "It'll be all the sweeter when I rip it from your gods-damned face!"

Tuffnut narrowed his eyes. "Go ahead, bring it on!"

Axe-face bellowed at the challenge and charged head-on.

"Oh no, I take that back!" Tuffnut rambled, moments before the bigger man hit him at a run in a full tackle. Down they went in a heap.

Watching, Ruffnut shook her head in exasperation. She looked down and smirked to see that the Dragon hunter had been so enraged as to leave his sword on the ground. She reached through the bars and picked it up.

A few seconds later, she had cut herself free of her bonds. She looked back to see Tuffnut struggling with Axe-face on the ground, too far away for her to do anything to help.

"Don't worry, sis!" Tuffnut called. "I've got this under control!"

"Die!" Axe-face shouted into his flinching face. "Just die, already!"

"Yeah, Tuff, you keep on thinking that!" Ruffnut called back. She turned to Barf and Belch. "Well, guys, guess we have to break ourselves out."

It was then a simple matter to unwind the bolos from around each of the Zippleback's heads. Each head trilled joyously when it could move its jaws freely. They nuzzled Ruffnut by way of thanks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm happy for you both." Ruffnut told them gently. "Now, let's pop the lid off of this box!"

Barf and Belch warbled, then Barf spat a small cloud of gas into the air. Ruffnut huddled under one of the zippleback's wings before Belch ignited the cloud and blasted the roof off of the cage with a magnificent explosion. It crashed on the ground a few feet away, charred and warped.

Barf lowered his head to Ruffnut and she mounted up with a gleeful cackle. Barf and Belch flapped their wings and launched itself out of the cage, hovered low over the camp, then alighted near where Tuffnut and Axe-face rolled around on the ground.

Ruffnut crossed her arms imperiously over her chest. "Barf, Belch, save my bonehead brother, please."

Axe-face had just managed to wrap his bloody hands around Tuffnut's neck and had begun to throttle him when Belch dipped his head and clamped his jaws over the man's upper body. He cried out in agony as the dragon's fangs sank into his flesh and pulled him up off of Tuffnut. Belch growled and whipped the Dragon hunter to the side and opened his jaws. Axe-face was throw bodily through the air, limbs flailing, screaming in terror and pain.

"I almost had him!" Tuffnut protested, levering himself painfully upright. "He was falling right into my trap!"

Ruffnut regarded him with an indulgent look, leaning over Barf's horns. "Oh really, what trap was that, brother dear?"

"He was going to tire out any moment!" Tuffnut insisted, indignant. "When his grip slacked off, I was going to totally own his face with my fist!" Then he blinked, as if he just realized something, and added peevishly "Hey, I was supposed to save you, not the other way around!"

"You're welcome." Ruffnut drawled, unimpressed. "Can we go and save the other dragons now?"

"Uh, sure, I guess." Tuffnut shrugged. Then he looked and saw what the situation was at the camp's center. "Buuuut... I think Harrow _might_ like some help, too. You know, sooner rather than later."

"Oh?" Ruffnut turned and saw the man in question running from cover to cover amidst the scattered supply caches at the center of the Dragon hunter camp, pursued by the remaining Dragon hunters who were still able to fight, turning to fight when the crossbowmen who harried him had to reload.

"We could do both." Ruffnut suggested after a moment of thought. "We bust out these dragons and set this dump ablaze, Thorston-style?"

Tuffnut, now mounted on Belch, grinned as they shared a fist bump. "Sounds good to me."

Harrow wasn't sure how much longer he was going to be able to fight. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his limbs protested at every movement. He had a few new wounds that liked to announce their presence with a twinge or a throb, too. But, in exchange, he had managed to kill two more Dragon hunters after the last volley.

But, the remainder had organized and no longer were so easy to attack, falling back and leaving their marksmen with an open field of fire, then working to keep him from going to ground behind cover by outflanking him. Their leader turned out to be Snaggletooth, who turned out to be a decent tactician. It seemed that he had decided to wear Harrow out, since they had far more bolts for their crossbows than he had stamina, and he had already been fighting like a devil.

He knew the hunter's were nearly finished spanning their crossbows. He went to duck around the corner of another stack of crates, only to find a couple of Dragon hunters waiting for him with spears.

He swore, desperately pivoting. The men thrust and he parried one away while he tried to sidestep the other. His wounds and exhaustion slowed him, so though he managed to knock the first spear thrust aside safely, the second gouged a bloody furrow across the left side of his ribs. He felt the iron spearhead scrape over bone.

Pain flared from the new wound in a whole new order of magnitude. He heard the crossbows loose behind him and half-fell half-threw himself toward the ground, his injuries be damned. If he didn't avoid those quarrels, it didn't matter how badly they would hurt, he'd be dead.

Hitting the ground made everything much, _much_ worse. Harrow's vision swam and he couldn't breath for how much his body assaulted him with sensation. The sword fell from his spasming right hand.

Around him, the Dragon hunters cheered and cautiously approached. They knew how dangerous a wounded man could be. Almost as dangerous as a wounded dragon.

Snaggletooth was the first amongst them to get within arm's reach. He had a heavy axe in his hands and a very pleased look on his face.

"Well, looks like this magnificent warrior has finally run out of luck! I'll admit it, you gave us quite the fight. Other Vikings would probably compose a song, to commemorate your prowess." He chuckled darkly. "Unfortunately for you, we aren't that kind of Vikings, are we boys?"

His surviving compatriots grumbled vaguely, half threat and half weary resignation. They were just glad this lunatic madman was finally down and waiting for the deathblow. In truth, they were shaken at how much damage one man could inflict. It was like what the stories about berserkers said, only this man proved far too rational and calculating to be one of those legendarily unstable fighters.

Snaggletooth paced around Harrow and kicked the bloodied and much battered sword away from his hand. Then he knelt, shouldering the heavy axe with one hand while grabbing a hold of Harrow's hair with his other. He jerked Harrow's head up off the ground so that his one good eye could be seen, rolling with his suffering.

"Aye, you deserve a warrior's song, but you gambled with fate, and fate found you wanting." Snaggletooth told him conversationally. Harrow could only groan, gasp for breath. Snaggletooth smiled mirthlessly at his anguished expression. He let his grip go and Harrow's head fell back to the bloody sand.

"Don't worry, lad, I think you at least deserve a consolation prize. Ordinarily, I would let you die slow. But all this running around tonight has sapped my mood for sport. I'll end you, put you out of your misery." He reached down and patted Harrow's cheek with one rough, calloused hand. "How does that sound?"

Harrow tried to form words, and found that he couldn't. He tried to glare hatefully up at the Dragon hunter. For his part, Snaggletooth stood and took up his axe in both hands again. He placed the heel of one filthy boot on Harrow's back and leaned his weight on him, grinding him down into the sand.

Harrow screamed, a strangled and terrible sound. His vision whited out from the fresh waves of Dragon hunters laughed when they heard him. Snaggletooth rested his axe head-down on the ground, the handle against his leg as he spat into his hands. Then he took the weapon up again and lifted it over his head, his expression grim.

"Time for you to go to Hel." he growled.

But before he could follow through and bury the blade of his axe in the young man's neck, a series of explosions rocked the Dragon hunter's camp. Great flares of orange-yellow light leapt into the air and briefly turned night into day. The hunters were forced to shield their eyes against the sudden brilliance.

"What in the name of Hel was that?!" Snaggletooth cried, rubbing his eyes.

"Look!" One of the other hunters sang out. "The dragons are escaping! Someone's broken open the cages!"

"But who would be fool enough to do that!?" Snaggletooth demanded to know. "This whole excursion is going to Hel in a gods-damned basket!" He rounded on the hunters standing nearby, gaping like a bunch of idiots. "You lot, don't just stand there catching flies! Go get those dragons back under control!"

"How are we supposed to do that?" Another hunter challenged snidely. "We're down about half of our men!"

Snaggletooth cuffed the dissenter upside his helmet. " _Muttonhead_ , we've been starving those dragons for days now, they'll be weak and disoriented with hunger! Lash them down with bolos and shove them back into those cages, on the double!"

The able bodied Dragon hunters rushed off to do just that, and not a moment too soon. The captive dragons were taking wing. Some, like the Terrible Terrors, simply flew as fast as they could away from the sounds and smells of the camp. They associated it with pain and fear and wanted nothing more to do with it. Others, like the Deadly Nadders, decided that their cruel captivity was deserving of payback. These dragons turned their fire and claws against those Dragon hunters who presented themselves.

Snaggletooth watched as the dragons and the hunters fought, with the wearied hunters getting the worst of it despite the dragons weakened state. He glared back down at the young man at his feet. He could at least tie up this loose end. For the second time he hoisted his axe up high.

Only to have a jet of noxious green gaze blast him in the face. The smell triggered a coughing fit and his eyes burned. "Loki's ass! What now?!"

"Hey! Over here, muttonhead!" A rough feminine voice screeched. Snaggletooth squinted through watering eyes and saw the recently acquired Zippleback had broken free as well. Then he made out the figures of two lanky, blonde Vikings - one male, one female- riding on the each head of the dragon, looking very pleased with themselves.

Snaggletooth recognized the young woman as the one they had captured earlier in the evening. "Guess I know who to thank for freeing our dragons, eh?"

"You guessed right." the blonde young man replied smugly, "We don't care much for Dragon hunters so close to Berk. This is your chance to clear out, or else we'll be back tomorrow with a whole team of dragon-riders!"

"Oh really?" Snaggletooth sneered. "Well, I'll remember that, and the next time you show up we'll be waiting for you!" He laughed cruelly. "But first, if you don't mind, I'm going to kill this fellow here. That will be one less filthy Hooligan in Midgard!"

Anger flashed across Ruffnut's face. "If you so much as touch one more hair on his head, I'll have my dragon blow you into little smoking giblets!"

"Yeah!" Tuffnut chimed in, frowning. "And then I'll mash those giblets into paste!"

Snaggletooth snickered derisively at them. "That's a fine threat and all, but how are you going to carry it out? You're all the way over there, and here I stand with my axe. This poor soul will be dead long before you can anywhere close enough to do anything to me!"

Snaggletooth raised his axe for the third time that night, laughing maniacally at the thought of coating it's blade in fresh blood.

"NO!" Ruffnut shouted frantically, and tried to urge Barf to do something. But Tuffnut froze and did not urge his half of the dragon forward. Something had caught his gaze.

The air was distorting over the stack of crates behind Snaggletooth. Suddenly, a Changewing appeared with a loud hiss, crouched with wings spread in a threat display. It's tendrils flowed through the air menacingly as its prehensile tail snapped forward. Snaggletooth shouted in surprise and pain as he was lifted off the ground by his arms.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut watched in stunned silence as the Changewing roared into Snaggletooth's face, then promptly flicked him out to sea. He landed with a splash some fifty feet away from shore, the impact a hard slap against the water.

"That was _awesome_!" Tuffnut crowed, punching the air with both fists. The Changewing oriented on his movement, growling and hissing. "Uh… that doesn't look good..."

"That's not the only thing that doesn't look good!" Ruffnut groaned in dismay. Tuffnut's good mood evaporated when he saw what had upset his sister. She dismounted from Barf and hurried forward toward Harrow, who hadn't moved or said anything. She came up short when the Changewing leapt down suddenly with a roar and with a flap of it's wings.

The Changewing crouched possessively over the injured young man as it landed, tail twitching and tendrils flowing in agitation.

"It's the Changewing from the trap." Tuffnut observed quietly to Ruffnut, dismounting as well. Sure enough, when she looked, she saw the Changewing's shovel-shaped snout had a vivid scar like a half-moon.

"So what's it doing now?" Ruffnut demanded, troubled, anxious to get to Harrow. "Stupid dragon! Did it wait all this time just to finally kill us?"

Tuffnut watched the mysterious dragon's behavior. It was very careful not to disturb Harrow and watched every move made by either Viking, or Barf and Belch. It wasn't often that Tuffnut forced his brain to make new connections, tried not to be much of a thinker. He usually left that kind of thing up to Hiccup and Fishlegs. But now, watching the changewing, he had a pretty good idea what was going on.

"Ruff, I think… and I know this is a long shot, but... I think that the Changewing is trying to _protect_ him." Tuffnut murmured, half in wonder.

"But can't that overgrown lizard see that Harrow's _bleeding out_ right in front of us!?" Ruffnut cried out, frustrated. "We have to get him back to Berk. Now!"

Tuffnut frowned. "I know, sis, but I don't know if we can get any closer."

The Changewing hissed and rumbled low in its throat as it watched them. Barf and Belch trilled angrily at the other dragon, spreading their wings in a threat display, but did not approach.

Then, Harrow shifted on the ground, groaning pitifully. The Changewing stiffened and shuffled back a couple steps to regard the young man on the ground. It sniffed him carefully, gently prodded him with it's snout.

Harrow whimpered in pain at the contact.

" _Stop_!" Ruffnut cried out. The Changewing snapped its head up and fixed her with its unwavering yellow gaze. She started forward slowly, maintaining eye contact with the dragon as she went.

Tuffnut watched his sister approach the hostile dragon, his heart up in his throat. He wanted to go with her but his feet wouldn't obey him. "Uh… Ruff?"

"Yeah?"

Tuffnut licked his lips nervously. "What in the name of Great Odin's magnificent beard are you doing?"

"What does it look like, elf-butt?" Ruffnut shot back, trying to hide how her voice shook. "I'm going to help Harrow."

"But… what about the dragon?"

"It's going to have to get over it." Ruffnut said flatly. She showed the dragon her empty hands as she crept closer, step by step. The Changewing continued to watch her with an intense focus, raising its spade-like head a touch to get a better look. Now it seemed more inquisitive than defensive. Maybe it was curious as to why they hadn't fled? That could be it.

"See?" Ruffnut said to it in her softest voice. "I'm no threat to you, no threat at all. All I want to do is check my friend there." She gestured to where Harrow lay. The changewing flicked a glance to the injured young man, then back to Ruffnut. "He's hurt, can't you tell? I want to help him. You must want to help him too, since you saved him from having his head chopped off."

The Changewing made a sound like a low hum in it's throat. It's tendrils danced in a more sedate pattern around it as Ruffnut came even closer. Ruffnut swallowed, her throat dry. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she felt sick to her stomach with the tension. At any moment, this wild predatory dragon could decide to attack her, and she'd be helpless to stop it.

She stood now within an arm's length of the dragon's snout. She could feel Tuffnut's gaze at her back. Thankfully he didn't try and talk to her. She was certain that if he did, it would break whatever spell the changewing was under. She had to keep the dragon focused on her.

"Listen." She spoke in gentle appeal to the changewing. "We don't have a lot of time to waste. My friend is badly hurt. He needs help that only a trained healer can give him. You need to let us get to him, so we can take him to get help. Please?"

The dragon didn't move from its spot. It merely watched her with its inscrutable gaze. Harrow groaned softly again. This time he weakly shifted his head so that he could look around with his good eye. His lips worked feebly.

"Harrow, please… don't try and talk…" Ruffnut told him. "I'm okay. Tuffnut got me out."

Harrow wheezed and coughed. He was pale where blood or sand didn't cover him. "Good… Hurts… hurts all over, Ruff…"

"I know." Ruffnut murmured. "We're going to get you back to Berk. Hang on!"

"C-cold…" Harrow trailed off. "So… c-cold... "

That wasn't a good sign. Ruffnut felt her heart sink. "Harrow?!"

Harrow was silent.

Panic rose in Ruffnut's throat like bile. She turned a blazing gaze on the Changewing. " _Alright_ , I've had enough with this shit! Get out of my way, you gods-damned overgrown newt!"

She lunged forward the last short distance. The Changewing, rather than take offense, recoiled quickly. It relinquished its position crouching over Harrow and watched from a few feet away as Ruffnut carefully placed two fingers to the side of Harrow's throat.

"Is he…?"

"No, not yet." Ruffnut called back to her brother. "But he's close. He's lost a lot of blood. We have to go now!"

Tuffnut needed no further prompting. Keeping a wary eye on the brooding Changewing nearby, he scurried over to where his sister knelt next to their injured comrade.

"Sorry, Harrow, don't know if you can hear me or not, but this is seriously going to suck for you."

Ruffnut looked her brother in the eye. "Ready? On three."

"One…"

"Two…"

"THREE!"

They hauled Harrow upright, bracing him with their shoulders under his arms, Tuffnut on his left and Ruffnut on his right. He screamed, coming out of his stupor briefly, eyes bulging and body spasming.

Tuffnut cursed and sweated and Ruffnut murmured soothing nonsense as they labored under Harrow's dead weight toward their waiting Zippleback. Barf and Belch needed little prompting on what was needed of them.

Ruffnut mounted first. Tuffnut helped her pull Harrow's dead weight up in front of her on the saddle. She wrapped her arms around Harrow and was relieved to feel him breathing still, shallow and rapidly. His head lolled back onto her shoulder.

Tuffnut jumped into his saddle on Belch. A short distance away, the Dragon hunters noticed them preparing to take off. They had given up on trying to catch the formerly captive dragons and were racing back in the direction of the camp.

"Looks like we wore out our welcome." Tuffnut opined sagely.

The last sensation that registered in Harrow's pain muddled mind was the leap the Zippleback took into the air.


	11. Welcome to Berk, Part 7

This oblivion was not the same as sleep, though it was very close. Harrow knew that by the way he could still catch snatches of conversation around him but couldn't move or feel his body. The voices sounded distant as if they came from far away or muffled as if from behind a thick veil. The words didn't want to make sense to his mind, however, so he couldn't figure out what the context or content was.

The dreams were not the same either. At least, they seemed like dreams to him. One moment he was eight years old again, staring as his father fought for their lives against a dozen faceless yet familiar foes. The next moment he was replaying the events of his running battle against the Dragon hunters.

The visions were vivid. They came complete with sounds, smells, and other sensations. He wasn't sure everything he was seeing was exactly as it happened. Perhaps his mind was jumbling things in it's traumatized state.

Time passed glacially slow. The visions gave way to nothingness. The voices around him had quieted.

Suddenly, he felt cold, cold all over. With the cold came a dull throbbing pain that centered on his chest, specifically the left side. He heard himself groan and there was an odd sense of dissociation, like he was surprised to hear himself.

Then, his eyelids cracked open and he blinked, looked around. He found himself in a dimly lit front room, longer than wide, of a Berk-style wooden house. Faded tapestries hung from the walls where there were no shelves. Where there were shelves they were filled with earthenware jars or bowls. The whole room smelled vaguely of old dried plants and dust. A fire smoldered low in a hearth on the right, putting off more smoke than heat.

Harrow looked down the length of his own body. He found himself lying on a narrow cot, swaddled with many furs and blankets. He sensed a presence with him in the room and tried to turn his head to search it out, but found that motion made him dizzy. He groaned again as the world swam before his eyes and he shivered.

The presence to his right moved, a bulk stood up from a low wooden chair. "Harrow? Are you awake?"

"Fishlegs?" Harrow croaked. His voice sounded thin and weak. "Is that you?"

The hefty young Viking stepped closer to the cot. Harrow couldn't make out much of his face in the dim light, but he thought he could see a relieved smile. "Yeah, it's me."

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought it would have been obvious." Fishlegs replied. "I'm keeping on eye on you, of course. And before I took over, Ruffnut was here."

Harrow frowned, mystified. "Ruffnut? Why?"

"That's another thing that should be obvious." Fishlegs told him dryly. "She was worried. Are you sure you don't know why?"

"Not in the mood for vague hints." Harrow muttered. "And can you build up that fire? It's freezing in here."

Fishlegs frowned, bent closer, close enough to note his complexion. Then he turned to the hearth and threw a couple more logs on the sullen fire. Then he was back, lips pursed. "Do you want another blanket?"

"If it would help." Harrow replied, shivering. "I feel like my whole body was doused in ice!"

"I'm not surprised." Fishlegs remarked seriously. He picked up another blanket from a pile on the floor by his chair and unfolded it, then draped it over the many layers on the cot. "You had lost a lot of blood when Ruff and Tuff got you back to Berk last night. Goethi wasn't sure you'd make it."

Harrow grunted his thanks. Fishlegs went back, stretched and sat down on the chair. He had the Book of Dragons with him. Harrow guessed that he had been reading by firelight before he had woken up. He opened the book again to a section he had marked with a bit of scrap paper. Harrow let him read for a few long moments. He knew he should save his strength, but he had so many questions, he knew he'd never keep his peace. "How long was I out?"

"Five, six hours?" Fishlegs reported, looking up from the page. "The three of you came back shortly before midnight last night. It's early morning on Freya's Day now."

"And where am I? This doesn't look like the guest lodge Stoick assigned me."

"It's because it's not." Fishlegs explained patiently. "We're in Goethi's front room. She's the village healer, and our elder. She's wise in herb-lore medicines, setting bones and most other forms of healing, that kind of stuff."

Harrow cast another slow gaze around the room with new appreciation. "She was the one who patched me up, then."

Fishlegs nodded, wincing. "Yeah. She had to scrub your wounds first, because it looked like you had been rolling around in sand. Then she made sure there was no broken bone in the wound. After that, it was a simple matter of stitching you shut."

Harrow grimaced, not relishing the mental images this description imparted. "You make it sound so… easy."

"Well, it was, from my perspective." Fishlegs said with a shrug. "Probably wasn't if you were on the receiving end of the treatment."

"No, not really, if the lingering soreness is any sign." Harrow muttered. "Where is everyone else?"

"Ruffnut and Tuffnut are home, sleeping. Hiccup, Astrid, Heather, and Snotlout left on a mission with their dragons." Fishlegs told him.

"Where did they go?"

"They went to go finish what you guys started."

"Oh, right. The Dragon hunters."

"Yeah." Fishlegs agreed softly. "They know all about what happened on your patrol. Tuff would have probably woken up the whole village and told them, too, if he could."

Harrow grunted.

"He really wanted to go back out with the others after the Dragon hunters, but Hiccup wouldn't let him. Besides, he would need Ruffnut to fly with him on Barf and Belch, and _she_ wasn't going anywhere."

"Because of me?"

"Yeah. She said you saved her from the Dragon hunters."

"I didn't do it alone." Harrow told Fishlegs quietly, opening his eyes. "Tuffnut was there, too."

Fishlegs shifted in his seat, the chair creaking with his weight. "Harrow, you know she's… uh, kinda got a crush on you, right?"

"Yeah, I figured something like that." Harrow replied. "Not sure why, though."

"Look at it this way, Harrow: until you came along, her options of single men her age on the island were pretty slim. Hiccup is pretty solidly Astrid's, that's obvious to everyone with eyes. I was certainly never going to be her choice."

"Not that Heather would allow that to happen." Harrow pointed out knowingly, giving the other young man the fisheye..

Fishlegs blushed and smiled. "Er, yeah. Heh. Anyway, that left her with Snotlout."

"So, she's attracted to me because I'm not Snotlout." Harrow deadpanned. "Goodie."

Fishlegs frowned at him. "There's probably more to it than that."

"Probably." Harrow agreed, looking away. "In any case, she sure does come on strong."

"Yeah, that's Ruff for you."

Harrow thought for a long moment. "I think I'm going to have to apologize to her at some point soon."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I was kind of an ass to her on the patrol." Harrow confessed with a sigh. "Really didn't mean to be, she just kind of freaked me out with how _forward_ she was. Now I hear she sat a vigil for me, and I feel like a total muttonhead."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." Harrow insisted, uneasy. "I just… well, I have a hard time believing anyone would find _me_ attractive, you know? It caught me off guard."

Fishlegs regarded him with an inscrutable expression. "Huh."

"What?"

"I was just reminded of the phrase _beauty is in the eye of she who beholds it_." Fishlegs told him.

"Ah." Harrow couldn't think of anything else to say. He shivered again. "Where did you hear that one?"

"I heard it in a Skald's song." Fishlegs remarked. "Actually, I'm paraphrasing, but it still holds the essence of the concept." He adjusted himself in the chair again, as if he couldn't get comfortable on the bare wooden seat. "I thought much the same as you, you know. I mean, I'm not exactly your ideal Viking."

"Not brave enough, not aggressive enough, not a warrior?"

Fishlegs nodded. "Exactly. So I had a hard time thinking anything would come of my… uh, affection for Heather. But, it turns out that she was plenty brave on her own, not to mention an excellent warrior in her own right. I didn't need to be those things for her. Imagine my surprise when I finally realized that it was the thoughtful, intelligent Fishlegs that got her attention!"

Harrow snorted. "I'm sure you weren't the only one surprised at that realization."

Fishlegs laughed. "Snotlout was _so_ angry! Well, actually, he was more _dumbfounded_ than angry, but you get the idea."

Harrow didn't reply.

Fishlegs got up and approached the cot, concerned. He saw Harrow's chest still rising and falling and let out a relieved sigh.

He had just fallen asleep.

When next Harrow woke later that morning, the front room of Gothi's was much more crowded. Hiccup was there, as was Astrid, Stoick, and a little old woman dressed in furs and a shawl with a wise-woman's staff who Harrow supposed must have been Goethi.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, lad." Stoick intoned. "How are you feeling?"

"Cold, sore, and exhausted." Harrow replied softly. "In no particular order, sir."

"We're glad to see you pulled through." Astrid told him, smiling. She gave Hiccup a sidelong glance. "So _some_ of us can stop feeling guilty."

Harrow lifted his brows in a silent question at Hiccup, who merely simpered and scratched at the back of his head. "Well, it _was_ my suggestion to send you out on patrol with the twins, after all."

Frowning, Astrid nudged him affectionately. "It wasn't your fault that he got hurt."

"I know." Hiccup sighed. "Still doesn't change how rotten I feel."

"Hey, if you think I look bad, you should see the _other_ guys." Harrow muttered, a faint smirk twisting his lips.

"Aye, about that." Stoick interjected. "Tuffnut has been telling anyone that would listen about the battle at the hunter's camp. Did you really take on twenty Dragon hunters by yourself, armed with nothing but an eating knife?"

"Yeah, I want to hear all about this." Astrid added eagerly. "I _have_ to know how you managed to pull it off!"

"I got lucky." Harrow told them. He wasn't sure how much of his skills he should acknowledge.

"That's it?" Hiccup asked, doubtful.

"Well, that, and I don't think they thought I was sane."

"The good old crazy plan." Astrid observed, smiling at Hiccup. "Works every time, huh?"

Hiccup smiled back at her. "Every time it counts, at least." Then he addressed Harrow. "We went back early this morning and found the hunter's campsite. Between the escaping dragons and your luck, the camp was pretty well wrecked."

"Any sign of the Dragon hunters themselves?"

"None." Astrid answered. "Looked to us like they high-tailed it, probably sometime after the twins took off with you."

"We'll need to be more careful from now on." Stoick noted gravely. "We can't have Dragon hunters setting up shop so close to Berk. We have to take steps to protect our dragons."

Hiccup nodded. "We'll step up patrols, extend our range. Hopefully we'll catch them when they try again."

"What about the anniversary celebration?" Harrow asked with sinking spirits. "It's not canceled, is it?"

"Don't worry, the celebration is still going to happen." Stoick assured him. "Nothing, save a direct attack on the island, would make us cancel it. It's still on for this evening."

"And even then, it would only be _postponed_ in the event of an attack." Astrid opined wryly. "We'd have even more of a reason to be celebrating as soon as we had finished fighting."

"True." Stoick agreed, chuckling. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to it. Still plenty to do before tonight."

"Thank you for coming to check up on me, sir." Harrow said quietly. "I appreciate it."

Stoick nodded. "It's no trouble at all. Just do your best to get well soon."

And with that, he was gone. His heavy footsteps could be heard receding from Gothi's front door. Goethi, herself silent through the previous exchange, stepped up to the side of Harrow's cot. She made no preamble as she pulled back the thick layer of blankets and began to examine the bandages over Harrow's chest with a intent, analytical gaze.

"Guess it's time for another check-up." Hiccup observed. "We should probably let you rest, now."

"Hopefully you'll be strong enough to come to the festivities later." Astrid added, smiling. "It'd be a shame if you had to miss all the fun."

"I'll try my best." Harrow assured them. "I wouldn't want to miss the fun, either."

"Try and sleep." Hiccup suggested as Astrid headed for the door. "And maybe have something to eat. We'll see you later this evening, if not sooner."

"Later." Harrow called.

Then, the door shut, and he was alone with the little old healer woman, who spent the next twenty minutes poking and prodding Harrow and all his wounds. He tried his best not to make too much of a fuss, but sometimes the healer's ministrations were far from gentle. When he did make his displeasure known, he received a mild glare and a light tap on the forehead with the end of her staff.

After making her examination and, apparently, finding him mending well, Goethi went over to the wall shelves and pulled down some ingredients. She took these over to a worktable where she fussed with scales and a mortar and pestle. She returned five minutes later with a wicked smile on her thin, grey lips. She swished a bottle of some foul, murky looking liquid at him like a threat, cackling.

Unable to escape, Harrow groaned.

Goethi's solution was indeed as foul as it looked, but aside from the taste, it must have had wonderful healing properties. Harrow napped again for an hour or two and when he woke, he didn't feel chilled anymore. He was still sore all over, especially his left flank, but it was more manageable than earlier that morning.

Gothi was still in the room, puttering about with her earthenware bowls and bottles. Harrow noticed with some wonder that about a dozen small dragons of various colored scales were now in the room, as well. He remembered that they were called Terrible Terrors, but not much else. He'd have to remember to ask Fishlegs more about them later. This flock seemed to watch Goethi intently. During her work, she would reach out a hand and waggle her spidery fingers. One of the watching Terrors would take off from where it was roosting and fly up to the shelves beyond Gothi's reach, grasp a container with its claws, and fly over to deposit the item in Goethi's open palm.

Harrow let out a little chuckle upon seeing this. The Terrors all swiveled their heads to look at him when they heard the sound. Suddenly, he was covered in small dragons, sniffing him all over from head to toe.

"Hey! Cut that out!" He gasped, the little dragon's claws tickling him as they scurried over the blankets. One Terror, a dull blue scaled specimen, even stuck it's tongue in his ear. He reacted on reflex, swatting the Terror from his shoulder with one hand. It bounced off the far wall, eyes crossed, and landed on the floor. It shook its head to clear away the cobwebs and barked an angry retort at Harrow.

Goethi shook her staff at Harrow, who shrugged. "Sorry."

Goethi sighed, walked over to where he lay, and brushed the Terrors off of him with a gentle sweep of her staff. The little dragons chattered and trilled in annoyance, but cleared off and went back to roosting where they had been before the noticed the newcomer.

Then, Goethi went over to her hearth. Somehow during Harrow's nap she had hung a much-abused black iron cauldron over the low-burning flames. He suspected that she had perhaps had help from her scaly little helpers. Now she used an equally battered iron ladle to dish up some steaming liquid into a earthenware cup.

It smelled… not _entirely_ unpleasant when she brought it over to Harrow and wafted it under his nose. She mimed taking a sip from the cup, then took one of his trembling hands from under the covers and pressed the warm cup into his palm.

"You want me to drink this?" Harrow asked, lifting the cup.

Goethi nodded sagely. She stood and stared at him. It didn't look like she was going to go away and do something else until he did as she bid.

"Alright, I'll drink it." Harrow relented, slowly levering himself into a sitting position. "It can't be as bad as that other stuff."

Goethi cackled, but said nothing else. Harrow began to wonder if she _ever_ spoke. With trepidation, he took a sip. The texture was like a thick broth, smooth and velvety on the tongue. The flavor was sharp, coppery. Like the taste of blood at the back of your mouth when you had a nosebleed. It even had a metallic finish when he swallowed.

"What… is this?" Harrow muttered, glaring at the little old woman.

A knock came at the hut's door. A rough feminine voice sang out. "Goethi? Goethi, it's me, Ruffnut! Can I come in?"

Goethi shot a shrewd look at Harrow before tottering over to the door with the help of her staff. A moment later and Ruffnut stepped into the hut's front room.

Her face lit up when she saw Harrow sitting upright on the cot, cup in hand. "Hey, you're awake!"

"And on the mend, thanks to you and your brother." Harrow replied. "If it wasn't for you guys, I'd have gone to Valhalla early on that beach."

"Well, you did save me, too, so I'd say we were even." Ruffnut said. She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. "Goethi make some of her Yak-blood Soup for you?"

Wincing with distaste, Harrow glanced down at the contents of his cup in horror. "Is _that_ what this is?"

Again Goethi cackled where she was grinding up medicine components at her work table.

Ruffnut smirked at the expression on Harrow's face. "Better not waste that stuff, Harrow. It's supposed to help your body recover from blood loss."

"To recover from losing blood, I need to drink blood?" Harrow deadpanned, doubtful.

"Yeah, duh!"

Harrow grunted, and decided that if he was going to have to drink yak blood, he might as well drink it all in one go. He quaffed the still-warm broth and shuddered as it made a warm pool in his stomach.

"How are you feeling?" Ruffnut asked at length. She looked like she relished his expression of faint disgust. "Good enough to get up and walk around?"

"I don't know." Harrow said, setting the now-empty cup on the floor beside the cot. "I suppose it's up to Goethi."

The old woman in question put down the mortar and pestle she was working with and shambled back over to the cot. She put one spidery hand to Harrow's forehead, then pulled back the covers to check the bandages over the spear wound on his ribs.

Ruffnut tried to avert her eyes, but found the opportunity to ogle Harrow's bare, muscular chest too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Harrow noticed this and cleared his throat. Ruffnut flushed, and quickly found the floor far more interesting.

At length, Goethi nodded gravely, and rolled the covers all the way back. Ruffnut was disappointed to see that, while he lacked a shirt, Harrow was in fact wearing pants.

Goethi mimed Harrow standing up. Then, she stood back and looked at him expectantly. He looked to Ruffnut. "Well, guess I'm cleared."

"Do you, uh… want help getting up?"

"No, I want to see if I can do it on my own."

He swung his legs over the edge of the cot and set his feet on the worn wooden floorboards. He stood, slowly, pushing himself up with his hands on the cot's edge. When he stood at his full height, he paused and assessed how things felt. He wasn't dizzy or lightheaded, he noted. That was probably a good sign.

Then, he tried taking a step.

And promptly was hit with a wave of weakness. His legs turned to water and buckled under him. The floor raced up to meet him, but Ruffnut lunged forward with a surprised yelp and caught him before he got there.

"Hey! Can't you wait five minutes before trying to kill yourself again?" Ruffnut scolded him, shifting his sagging weight onto her right shoulder. "You're just the same as Hiccup."

"Sorry." Harrow gasped, trying to master his senses. The world was spinning again. "Maybe I'm not... quite there, yet."

Goethi made a tsking sound and shook her head gravely. She motioned for Ruffnut to help Harrow back down onto the cot's edge and went to refill the cup with more blood soup. She handed it to Harrow, who had gone white.

"This stuff again?"

Ruffnut gave him a mildly concerned look. "If you don't want to be falling on your face, you should probably drink that."

Harrow sighed. "Hel's teeth…"

He drank the cup, and a third serving as well. The flavor became cloying after a while, coating the back of his tongue. He glanced at Ruffnut, who stood with her arms crossed, watching carefully as he drank. "Sorry, I bet you have other things want to go do right now."

She gave a indifferent shrug of her shoulders. "Don't worry about it."

"You sure?"

"I said, don't worry about it." Ruffnut reiterated, pointedly. "If I did, I wouldn't be here."

Harrow wisely decided to not say anything more.

Goethi gave him another cup of the blood soup. He drank it, slowly, as his stomach started to feel sloshy. He worried about getting ill. Vomiting blood soup didn't come across as very appealing to his mind.

"Tuffnut's been telling everyone about the battle, you know." Ruffnut blurted out as he sipped from the cup. "You're going to be the talk of the town for a little while."

Harrow snorted derisively. "Great. Just what I wanted, to be made a celebrity."

"Snotlout thinks it's all an exaggeration."

"He doesn't believe Tuffnut? Or you?"

"Tuffnut is known around the village for his tall tales." Ruffnut remarked. "I'll admit, I've spun a couple of good whoppers myself. So no, he doesn't believe us."

"Guess that's too bad."

Ruffnut grinned. "Which is why, when you're recovered, he wants to test you."

"Uh… test me? How?"

"By fighting you, how else?" Ruffnut replied, beaming. She was clearly relishing the idea. "Oh, but he has to get in line, because Astrid said _she_ wanted a crack at you first."

Harrow gaped at her. " _W-what_? Why!?"

"Because, genius, Astrid _lives_ for battle. The most Dragon hunters she's ever taken on at once was two, maybe three. Now, she's heard you took on ten times that number. _Of course_ she wants to fight you!" Ruffnut explained, snickering.

"And by fight, you mean spar, right?"

"I guess so."

Harrow looked relieved. "Good."

"Why, are you afraid you'll get your ass beat?"

"No, not necessarily! It's just… sudden." Harrow replied. He glared up at her a moment later. "And you're enjoying this way, _way_ too much. Are you still mad at me?"

Frowning, Ruffnut rested her fists on her hips and looked down at him. "Maybe we'll talk about that when you can stand on your own two feet without keeling over."

Harrow set the empty cup back into Goethi's hands with a nod of thanks. Goethi stepped back and watched as he attempted to stand up again. This time, whether it was because of all the blood soup or something else, he managed a step.

And another after that.

He turned to Ruffnut. "Well, looks like this is as good as it gets for now. Care to lead the way?"

She regarded him carefully for a long moment. "Sure."

Goethi handed Harrow a spare shirt someone had left for him, which he gratefully put on, and together he and Ruffnut stepped towards the door.

Harrow squinted against the sunlight as he stood outside. It wasn't a clear day, but even overcast the light was much brighter than back in Goethi's hut. Below him on the slope, the village of Berk had been transformed in his absence. The decorations and banners lent the settlement a festive air. The villagers he could see didn't seem to be busying themselves with their usual chores. Instead, it looked like some of them had started celebrating early.

Ruffnut stepped past him, waved for him to follow. "Come on, this way. I know of a place where we can talk."

"Right behind you." Harrow replied. He wondered how long of a walk she had in mind. His body cooperated for now, but his side ached and his limbs felt shaky and he didn't know how long he'd be able to stay on his feet.

Maybe getting up was a mistake. But, he knew the impending conversation needed to happen, sooner rather than later.

Ruffnut led him down the slope and across the center of town. Villagers greeted them, smiling. Harrow was surprised to find that many of them knew who he was, and he had to awkwardly dodge questions about the battle at the camp.

Thankfully Ruffnut beckoned him, headed for what looked like a wooden tower on the edge of the island. A wooden ramp curled around the tower's base and led up to a platform. There, a firebox had been stuck in the platform's center, and benches had been installed around it.

Ruffnut sat down and patted the space beside her. Harrow hesitated, and she frowned. "What?"

"Nothing." Harrow muttered, feeling like a fool again. "Sorry."

They sat side by side in awkward silence for a while. Harrow sat back and took a deep breath of the sea air. He noted the fresh salt tang, then noticed there was something else there. He took another whiff. Flowers? Yes, definitely some kind of floral fragrance. He looked around and was bewildered to find that there was no sign of flowering bushes or plants nearby the tower.

That left only one source.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Harrow noticed that Ruffnut's hair looked… _clean_. And her braids were orderly. What's more, she wasn't wearing her usual outfit. It wasn't a dress, but it was a much nicer tunic and clean pair of pants.

"You know, there is such a thing as double standards." Ruffnut drawled.

"Not quite the same thing." Harrow retorted sharply. "You're still fully clothed."

Ruffnot groaned in disappointment. "Don't remind me."

Harrow sighed, seeing how the conversation was turning out. "I'm sorry, I'm just… surprised, is all. You don't seem like the type to care much for your appearance."

Ruffnut half-turned to face him. "Why would you think that? I'm a woman, you know, just as much as Astrid or Heather is! Why _wouldn't_ I care?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, I guess I assumed…"

"That's right, you _assumed_." Ruffnut sneered at him. "Well, I'll have you know that even though I'm not as pretty as Astrid or Heather, I still have feelings!"

"I know!" Harrow cried, desperate to forestall her outburst. "And I wanted to apologize."

"And another thing-!" Ruffnut pressing in on him as she went on, stabbing his chest with a sharp fingertip as she was about to continue her tirade. Then his words registered in her mind, and her angry expression fell into one of confusion. "You… you _are_?"

"Yes." Harrow replied, trying to infuse this word with as much sincerity as he could. "I didn't think of the effect my words would have when I said them."

"Then why did you?"

"Well, sometimes I speak before I think. That's a bad old habit from when I was younger." Harrow explained, rubbing his forehead. "But mostly, I guess I was flustered, uneasy."

Ruffnut looked at him, not angrily, but perhaps sullenly. "Because some crazy, half-troll girl was coming onto you?"

"Actually, it was that a girl was coming onto me at all." Harrow told her. "Generally, I scare them off with this." He gestured vaguely at his face with a hand.

Ruffnut quirked one blonde eyebrow, puzzled. "Your eye?"

"Yeah. It's kind of… garish, don't you think? Ugly? I mean, it works wonders when I want to scare the Hel out of someone, but I don't think it really improves anything."

"I like it, actually." Ruffnut admitted softly. She studied his face. "Don't you know that chicks dig scars?"

Harrow laughed uneasily, looked away when he felt an unaccustomed flush on his cheeks. "Uh, well, yeah… I had _heard_ that before. I didn't really believe it."

Grinning suddenly, Ruffnut laughed merrily. " _Really_? You're worried about your eye? And here I was, thinking it was just me who was being insecure!"

Harrow smiled and laughed along with her. He thought that perhaps things might be headed in the right direction now.

Boy, he would never hear the end of it if Signy ever found out that mean old Harrow, the Hel's Hound, scourge of the Meridian, had a heart-to-heart discussing his _feelings_ with a woman like this.

She'd be so upset she had missed it.

That thought tugged sharply at his heart, and he frowned suddenly.

"What's wrong?" Ruffnut asked, seeing his expression fall. "You know I'm not laughing at you, right?"

Harrow nodded. "It's nothing. A memory popped up unexpectedly, caught me on the hop."

"From before the shipwreck?"

"Yeah. From where I guess you could call my home."

"The Songless Isles, right?"

"No, someplace else. I mean, yes, I do originally come from there, but I haven't _lived_ on the Isles for years." Harrow explained, rambling a bit. He was mindful not to offer too much detail, which was easy with this particular topic. "I live, or I guess I used to live, on the Isle of Stormwrack."

"Haven't heard of that one." Ruffnut mused. "How far away is it?"

"Three or four days by ship." Harrow answered. "There's a town on Stormwrack, called Port Tempest."

"Hmm, sensing a pattern here."

"Well, it is a very stormy part of the Meridian." Harrow assured her, mock serious. "So the name of the island and the town are both appropriate."

Ruffnut chuckled. "Good old Viking tradition, to name things so obviously."

"That it is."

The sounds of merriment drifted up to them from the town below. Someone had struck up a song and a few others had joined in. Children ran around chasing one another. The smell of woodsmoke mixed in with that of the sea and the fragrance from Ruffnut's wondrously clean locks.

"So, am I forgiven?" Harrow asked at length. "I'd like to start over, if we could."

"Yeah, I forgive you." Ruffnut replied, lips twisted into a wry half-smile. "So long as you don't mind the occasional hint that you're stunningly, distractingly attractive. Eye and all, might I add."

 _There was that damned burning on his face again_! Harrow wondered if he was losing his hard bounty hunter edge at this rate. People had said that sort of thing before, trying to get to him and it hadn't affected him in the least. Maybe now, when there was a chance of it being sincere, it had more of a bite. He wasn't sure. Exploration into that possibility was an alien, foreign concept. It was fraught with reminders of the past.

Out of nowhere, Ruffnut stabbed him in the chest with her finger again, a fierce expression on her face.

"One more thing. You can't tell _anyone_ about this conversation, got it? I am _not_ a weepy romantic, I am a warrior! I will deny everything if you so much as _breath_ any of this to my brother or Snotlout."

He found himself chuckling. "I hear you. Nothing of this shall pass my lips. So! This anniversary celebration I've heard about for the past four days, what kind of entertainment can I expect?"

Ruffnut was only all too happy to tell him all about it.


	12. Berk's 400th

The afternoon passed in a pleasant haze. Once the business of smoothing over the situation was done with, Ruffnut and Harrow struck up an animated and amiable discussion on a number of topics. Ruffnut regaled him with a retelling of the tale of how she and the rest of the Riders had taken down a monstrous dragon to save their village.

That mostly answered his lingering questions as to what a "Red Death" was. He shuddered to think that such a beast wasn't only confined to the realm of myth and legend.

In return, Harrow told some of the more innocuous stories of his youth growing up running the mean streets of Port Tempest. The fist-fights with rival gangs, the petty larceny, such were safe enough to recall, having no bearing on his present and bringing up no ghosts from the past.

Then they talked about the upcoming party and the part the Riders of Berk would play in it, what kind of food would be on offer by the vendors in the village center and at the Mead Hall.

Harrow listened as best he could when she launched into another of her tangents, mostly about some pranks that she and her brother were planning on performing after the party-goers were all nice and tipsy, but found that he was nodding off. He valiantly tried to resist, not wanting to appear rude so soon after having patched things up. He really did. But in the end, his body betrayed him.

"Hey, are you even still listening to me?" Ruffnut demanded of him when his chin bobbed up from his chest the second time.

"Uh, sure I am." Harrow muttered blearily, trying and failing to hide a yawn. "You were saying something about a heaping bucket of yak dung?"

Frowning, Ruffnut regarded him with a mildly unamused look. "No, I said, wouldn't joining the dancing be fun?"

"Huh, I was _way_ off."

"You're crashing hard." Ruffnut announced, looking him over with a critical eye. "I think maybe you need to take a nap."

Harrow scoffed. "I'm not a baby! Why does everyone insist on treating me like one?!"

"Because you insist on whining like that!" Ruffnut retorted. "If you want to see all the awesome stunts we're going to pull during the airshow later this evening, you need to catch _at least_ one or two hours of shut-eye."

"Ruffnut…"

The Viking woman speared him with a hard look. "Harrow, you practically passed out right beside me, and I was talking right to you! Stop trying to be _Mister Viking-Tough-Guy_ and get some rest, or Thor help me, I'll drag you back and tuck you in myself!"

"Alright, _mother_ , I'll go and catch a few winks." Harrow grumbled, though he managed to smile to show it was in good humor. "So long as someone comes along and wakes me up in time for nattmal."

"Why, you don't think you can live on just Goethi's blood soup alone?" Ruffnut teased.

Harrow made a show of pretending to be sick. "Ugh! Next time, just let me die."

That made Ruffnut laugh, and Harrow couldn't ignore the little burst of warmth in his chest.

"Later." He said, threw a wave over his shoulder, and carefully made his way down the ramp of the tower. His side ached still. And he wobbled once or twice on the way back to the guest lodge. Plenty of Berkians were wobbling, too, already deep in their celebratory cups, and so no one really noticed his difficulty.

By the time he opened the lodge's door he felt like he had run laps around the island and he had to catch his breath. Closing the door behind him, he sat on the nearest of the four guest beds, and reflected on the fact that he had only _just_ begun to recover from his ordeal the other day.

How annoying, to be next to useless until his strength came back. He really, _really_ needed to get around to doing some planning for the purpose that he _actually_ came to Berk for. Though even if he did, he'd still need to wait for his strength to return in order to do anything about it. Harrow sighed and decided to delay thoughts in that direction for another day. He still had plenty of time.

Exhaustion blindsided him as he sat, crashing over him like a tidal wave. He barely had the energy to take off his boots before he laid himself out on the bed. He closed his eyes and, before he knew it, dreams of colorful giant lizards cavorting through the night sky swam through his head.

He started awake some time later. He sat up and looked out the western facing windows and saw the sun had just finished setting. He set about getting his boots back on.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the lodge door.

"Coming!" Harrow called, standing up. He stumbled, fell and stifled a quiet curse. His head was light and his vision was swimming. Maybe he'd been too quick standing up?

"Harrow, you okay?" The voice of Ruffnut called from the other side of the door.

"Just got up too fast." Harrow explained, trying to keep his tone light. He gathered himself and stood up again. He waited to the world stopped spinning and opened the door.

Ruffnut stood on the other side with another bundle of clothes in her arms. She made a face as she looked upon him. "You're not going to the Mead Hall dressed like that."

Harrow looked down at himself. "Why?"

"Because, muttonhead, everything's all wrinkled! Did you sleep in those clothes?"

"Hey, you said to catch some sleep, so I did!"

"Ugh, _men_! Lucky for you, I stopped by my parent's place." Ruffnut said, shoving the bundle of clothes into his arms.

"Here. They should fit, my mother used the measurements I took the other day. I would have brought them sooner, but you were… you know."

"Trying not to die." Harrow muttered flatly. He put the bundle down on the bed he'd just vacated and picked up the shirt, which was a rich cream color.

"Wow, this is some pretty fine craftsmanship!"

"Yeah, well, my mother the best seamstress on the island." Ruffnut explained, with a touch of pride. "She does a damn fine business here in Berk, what with one of our major trade goods being wool. I think she's made clothes for just about everyone in town, now that I think about it."

The pants that went with the shirt were just as finely made and were a dark blue in color. Harrow had a hard time remembering if he owned anything finer than these garments back in his little room at the Tipsy Scauldron.

"I'll just take a moment to change." He said, going to take off his boots.

Ruffnut smiled, and Harrow thought she was going to keep on watching him, but then she turned her back. For no discernable reason, he felt a hundred times better with the new clothes against his skin. He threw the old items on the foot of the guest bed and went about putting his boots back on. Ruffnut kept her back turned.

"You can look now."

Ruffnut turned around and ran an appraising eye up and down his form. She whistled. "Damn, mom does _fine_ work! I could eat you right up!"

Then she realized what she had just said,and froze, flushing. Harrow forced a cough and shifted uneasily.

Ruffnut had the good grace this time to look sheepish. "Uh, sorry… did I come on too strong again?"

"Just a little bit." Harrow replied, offering a wan smile. "Still getting used to it, you know?"

"Oh, sure, sure…I totally understand..."

"Give your mother my thanks." Harrow said, looking down at himself. He really did look sharp, if he did say so himself. He never really paid much attention before, but there was no denying the effect of well-made clothes.

"I will, don't you worry." Ruffnut remarked happily. "But we should get going. Are you hungry?"

As if in reply, Harrow's stomach rumbled like a raging Gronckle. He shrugged. "Guess that answers that question. After you?"

The Mead Hall was packed. Those Berkians who weren't living it up outside in the village center or carousing through the streets was there. The whole space resounded with the sound of furious merrymaking.

Just inside the Hall's doors, Harrow and Ruffnut came upon a small crowd of villagers and tribal guests listening to none other than Tuffnut as he regaled them with what sounded like a vastly exaggerated recounting of the battle at the dragon hunter's camp.

Standing atop a table, Tuffnut was in rare form this night, his voice pitched for maximum dramatic effect and his gestures vibrantly animated.

"And lo! There he stood, one man against fifty, prepared for a battle that will go down in Hooligan - nay, _Viking_ legend! Armed with naught but an eating knife, our hero was determined to buy time for his companions or die trying! Thor himself must have blessed the lone hero with his skill-at-arms, for though he was surrounded on all sides, his foes could not lay a hand on him!"

The crowd murmured appreciatively as Tuffnut wielded an imaginary sword and pantomimed a man fighting off foes on all sides. Some made loud sounds of disbelief, but were in the minority and ended up being drowned out. More than a few of the others cheered, enthusiastically.

Everyone loved a good story, and they were Vikings after all, so a retelling of a battle was even better. Tuffnut ate it up despite the fact that he wasn't the center of the story. He seemed to be just as happy embellishing Harrow's role in the tale.

"But, even one man, a man so blessed by the god of war, faced by so numerous a foe is tempting fate! Though he sent many of the enemy screaming into Hel's realm, it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out. And, ran out it did! For, his enemy, seeing his prowess at arms, saw no other way to defeat him but to resort to cowardly ranged weapons!"

Tuffnut then acted as if he was working the crank on an imaginary crossbow, a malicious sneer on his face. He assumed a shooter's pose and made the sound of a crossbow firing.

The crowd booed and hissed as if on cue, so tuned into the narrative they had become. Tuffnut was playing with great effect on the traditional notion that Vikings fought and killed face-to-face. Ranged weapons, no matter how effective in battle, were usually seen as coward's tools. No Viking warrior who wished to be perceived as upholding the warrior ideals would ever admit to wielding them. But, they would certainly decry their use against them in battle, and villainize their wielders in turn.

"The Dragon hunters, craven, shot at the brave hero with their crossbows! It was only by his quick wits and tenacity that he managed to shield himself with an enemy warrior's broad back. The crossbows were spanned and reloaded, but the Dragon hunters were too many, and our hero could not get at the cowards to show them how a true warrior fights! He had to run for cover, though he never entertained the idea of fleeing!"

Tuffnut wrestled with an invisible foe, pantomimed tossing the human shield aside when he had absorbed the incoming bolts. The crowd of listeners cheered. Those who could no longer stomach the story had left a while ago. Now only the most invested remained to hear the story's conclusion.

Harrow shook his head in disbelief. He could not understand how these people could buy into the narrative so completely. The gods certainly had not blessed him with any special talent. He had just been lucky. Really, _really_ lucky if he was honest.

"Come on, let's go find the others." He said to Ruffnut. "I already know how this one ends."

Ruffnut pouted back at him. "Aw, come on! He's just getting to the good part!"

"Ruffnut, you were there with us, you know how it ends too."

"Yeah, but that's not the point!"

"Then, what is? Letting people thinking that I'm some avatar of Thor on Midgard?"

"Of course not!" Ruffnut scoffed, rolling her eyes. "The point is, you're a Viking warrior, and Viking warriors boast of their victories. It's like an unspoken rule!"

"Alright, if that's the case, why is Tuffnut doing the boasting?"

"You clearly were in no position to earlier today." Ruffnut pointed out. "So, he's doing it for you. A warrior is nothing without his glory, right?"

"I'd rather he didn't." Harrow muttered, frowning. "It feels… dishonest. I mean, sure, a lot of the stuff happened more or less the way he says it did. But, _fifty_ Dragon hunters? _Fifty?_ _Really_?"

Ruffnut nudged him playfully and smirked. "Don't be such a spoilsport, Harrow! No one actually _believes_ that you single-handedly took on that many Dragon hunters. I don't think anyone here _could_ do that." She furrowed her brow in thought for a moment, then added. "Well, except maybe Stoick. Stoick probably could."

Equally as thoughtful, Harrow nodded. "Yeah, I guess I could see that."

"But, I guess if you don't want to bask in the glow of the adoration of your fans, that's fine with me." Ruffnut teased.

Harrow chuckled sardonically. "I think I can stand living without the adoration, thank you very much. I'm not cut out for standing in the public eye. What I don't think I can live without, however, is something to eat. I'm starving! Aren't you starving?"

"Huh, you're easy on the eyes, _and_ humble." Ruffnut opined gently. "Let's go grab a plate. I think I see Astrid waving us over to the Rider's table."

The Mead Hall offered roast leg of mutton with a generous selection of pickled vegetables and fresh baked bread for the Anniversary Celebration dinner. The smell rising up off the plate was enough to make Harrow's mouth run over with drool. His empty stomach noisily made itself known just about every step to the Rider's table.

All the Riders of Berk, saving for Tuffnut, was in attendance at the table. This time, unlike the first meal they had shared together, Fishlegs and Heather sat opposite Hiccup and Astrid, and this time Snotlout was with them. He sat on Hiccup's left while Astrid sat at his right.

And he wasted no time at all when he laid eyes on Harrow. "Well, if it isn't the great big hero, Thor's chosen son! So good of you to grace us mere mortals with your presence!"

"I take it you've been listening to Tuffnut's stories." Harrow replied, trying to suppress a wave of irritation. He hadn't liked the obnoxious young man on first meeting him, and this second encounter didn't improve his perception in anyway.

Snotlout waved his half-chewed leg of mutton about. "How could I NOT? It's all I've heard no matter where I go today!"

"It's just a story, Snotlout." Heather said dismissively. "Tuffnut's just running with it, like usual. You know how he likes to embellish things. Remember his tale of a giant fire-breathing dragon-chicken?"

"Actually, it makes for a rather compelling tale, even if it's a tad over-the-top." Fishlegs opined. "It's really no wonder it's so popular."

Snotlout scowled and ripped a big mouthful off his leg of mutton, rudely chewed while he spoke. "Yeah? Well, it makes me sick! I think it's a load of dragon dung! No one could fight that many guys at once!"

Astrid shuddered in revulsion at the sight. "Snotlout, would it kill you to chew with your mouth closed, for _once_?"

"For you, babe, _anything_."

Astrid glowered at him, reached back behind Hiccup and cuffed Snotlout on the back of the head. "Don't call me babe!"

"OW! Hey, I'm trying to eat, here!" Snotlout whined, rubbing the back of his head.

"What's the matter, _Snotpout_?" Ruffnut teased snidely. "Are you jealous?"

Irritated, Snotlout slammed the leg of mutton on his plate. "Of course not! I can fight just as well as he can. But, come on, you don't believe this crap, do you?"

Hiccup sighed, roused from preoccupation. "Snotlout, give it a rest. It's not something to get worked up about."

Snotlout scoffed. "Yeah, well, if it's something so insignificant, that someone ought to tell Tuffnut to quit spreading his annoying story all over the place!"

"Why don't we forget all about Tuffnut's story and concentrate on the celebration?" Hiccup suggested hopefully. He smiled. Harrow thought it looked forced, like he was trying to project joy when he obviously didn't have his heart in it.

At that moment, Tuffnut sauntered over, a wide grin on his face. "Did somebody say _celebration_?"

"We're trying to drown out Snotlout." Astrid told him, ignoring the evil look she received from the Viking in question. "Is everyone ready for our exhibition flight tonight?"

"Totally!" Ruffnut chimed in.

"It's going to be awesome!" Tuffnut crowed. He shared a gleeful Thorston headbutt with his sister and the both of them whooped and laughed.

"Not as awesome as our stunt is going to be." Heather remarked proudly. "We'll have everyone sitting on the edge of their seats! Right, Astrid?"

Astrid laughed, smiling fiercely. "You know it!"

"Exhibition flight?" Harrow echoed, looking around the table. "Sounds like I missed something. Are you guys involving your dragons in the festivities?"

"Of course!" Fishlegs replied eagerly. "I mean, it wouldn't be a proper anniversary celebration if we didn't include the most significant development in Berk's four hundred year history! It would be criminal!"

"That's right! And, we also can't forget the person who made that development possible for all of Berk." Astrid added, putting an arm around Hiccup's narrow shoulders and gave him a friendly shake. She favored the Heir of Berk with a fond look as she did, blue eyes glowing warmly.

Hiccup made a heroic attempt to not appear bashful or awkward, but really, there was only so much he could do given the circumstances. He managed a lopsided grin as he looked back around the table at his friends. "I-I couldn't have done it without all of you guys, honestly."

"Don't be so modest, Hiccup." Heather told him with a kind smile. "It's alright to take credit where credit is due."

"That's right!" Tuffnut loudly piped up. Then he snapped his fingers like he had just had a fantastic idea. Next thing anyone knew he stood up from his seat with his mug in hand and cleared his throat before continuing on in an overly dramatic voice.

"As the unofficial herald of Berk, allow me to raise a toast to my good friend and yours, the Hope and Pride of Berk, the Dragon Conqueror, HICCUP HORRENDOUS HADDOCK THE THIRD!"

The Riders of Berk cheered Hiccup. Even Snotlout, who managed to forget his simmering displeasure from earlier, joined in at the top of his lungs. The villagers and guests who stood or sat nearby took notice, and generally being happy and comfortable with their own meals,or being deep in mugs of mead, took up the cheer and spread it around the Hall. A hundred smiling faces regarded him with pride.

Overwhelmed, Hiccup went bright red with all the attention he was receiving. One would have thought that he would have become used to it, being the Heir and all. Apparently, he was still loathe to be the center of attention despite being destined for it.

Reluctantly, he stood when Astrid prompted him, and waved at all those who were toasting in his honor. The cheering went on for what seemed like a long time, but that could have simply been the echoes bouncing around the place.

Only Harrow, who watched with rapt amazement, was quiet in that moment. He put on a smile and hoisted his own mug, but nothing more. Resentfully, he supposed the Gods had twisted senses of humor.

Just as the cheering subsided, Gobber edged his way into the Hall from the great doors. "Alright, everyone! The time you've long awaited is here. The celebration is just about to begin!"

That got everyone moving. People began to stream steadily out of the Mead Hall into the night beyond. Harrow hurried to finish his meal and finish his mug of watered ale. The Riders of Berk stood and began to file out with the rest of the Berkians, save Ruffnut. She waited by the table as Harrow swallowed the last mouthful of his dinner and stood up.

"We're going to the stables now, to get ready for the exhibition flight." She told Harrow. "Be sure to find a good place to watch the skies over the harbor and have a clear view of the Spire."

Harrow nodded. "Got it. Harbor and spire, no problem."

Smiling brightly, Ruffnut turned to go. "See you after the exhibition!"


	13. Crashing the Party, Part 1

The village of Berk was lit up like a surreal dream. When Harrow stepped out of the Mead Hall, he was struck by all the flickering colored lights. The ropes that were strung up in order to hang the banners also had lanterns with multi colored glass panes on them. There was plenty of regular torchlight as well, but he was pretty sure the village was probably visible far out to see.

The night sky was perfectly clear. A sliver of the moon shone high overhead and the stars shone no matter where one looked into the dome of the sky. Harrow supposed it was perfect flying weather.

The music of pan flutes, drums, lyres and fiddles filled the air at the village center where the largest congregation of Berkians and their guests could be found. A jaunty festival tune that made the heart glad and chased worries from the mind floated up from where the musicians stood. Certain as the moon follows the sunset, where there was music, there was dancing. Vikings danced alone or in pairs, though many participants were thoroughly inebriated and were not perhaps as graceful as they thought.

A large stage had been assembled sometime in the last couple of days and upon it sat the chief, Stoick, in a ornately carved chair. He was smiling paternally with a merry twinkle in his green eyes and a cup of mead in one large hand. One large booted foot tapped the stage to the time of the music. It was the most disarming image of the chief that Harrow had ever seen in his brief time on Berk. The chief almost looked… carefree. Or, dare it be said, _happy_?

There was one other thing about the celebration scene that caught Harrow's eye. There were dragons everywhere! Gronckles, Nadders, Terrible Terrors, the odd Nightmare or Zippleback on their best behavior, there was not one part of the village center or the nearby rooftops that did not sport at least one scaly denizen of the island. To a one, they all seemed happy and playful.

The Berkians around them were happy they were there, of course, since they had come to accept the dragons as companions in everyday village life since the Dragon Peace. However, the guests stood out, as they were more leery of the great lizards, and took great pains to stay away from them without being perceived as rude to their hosts. Harrow supposed the Dragon Peace hadn't reached far beyond the shores of Berk.

"Oi! Harrow, lad, good to see you up and about!" Mulch called to him. The big sailor stood on the edge of the crowd, Bucket nearby with a platter of sweet treats.

Harrow couldn't help but smile when he saw the pair of Berkians. "Good to be up and about, Mulch. How's it going, Bucket?"

"Oh Thor, but I love this music!" Bucket sighed wistfully, his expression one of pure happiness. "Here, try one of these honey cakes. Baked them myself!"

Harrow accepted one of the sticky confections and took a bite. He winced, overcome with the overly sweet taste. It tasted like pure honey. It reminded him of mead, not exactly a good comparison. "Uh, thanks, Bucket."

Mulch laughed. "Isn't this grand, Harrow? This is one night you'll never be able to forget for the rest of your life, mark my words!"

Over on the stage, Gobber announced the first of the entertainments. The young children of the village had gathered to march in a little parade. Sure enough, a lone procession of little Viking boys and girls came trotting along from one of the streets into the village center, colorful little flags flying from their hands. Their faces were lit with joy as they had the time of their young lives.

"Let's hear it for the wee ones!" Gobber cheered, thrusting his own colored pennant into the air at the end of his stump. In the torchlight Harrow saw that Gobber had daubed warpaint on his face, a series of vibrant blue stripes over a green field. The crowd enthusiastically cheered, clapping and whistling. The children laughed and scattered to their parents.

Gobber glanced back at his chief, who nodded from his seat of honor, then stepped forward to the very edge of the stage and cleared his throat. The cheering and whistling respectfully ebbed as it appeared Stoick's right-hook man had something to say.

"We Berkians have come a long way in four hundred years! For a long time, we were at war with the dragons! Hunting them, killing them! But that all changed one day, when some of our youngest Berkians had the _guts_ to step up and take a stand! Ladies and Vikings, the time has come to look to the future of Berk!"

With a flourish, he turned and threw up his good hand in a gesture of presentation toward the Spire looming over the land behind him. "I give you, Hiccup and the Dragon Riders of Berk!"

At first, the approaching formation of dragons were just dark shadows that blotted out the stars as they flew through the sky. But then, each dragon opened their jaws and ignited their breath. In the case of Snotlout and the Monstrous Nightmare he rode, it set itself aflame and blazed through the cool night air like a comet. Hiccup rode Toothless at the head of the formation. From the ground it was easy to see him say something over his shoulder to his friends and fellow riders, probably some instruction or encouragement.

Shortly after, the formation broke up. Astrid, upon her Deadly Nadder, and Heather, upon a dragon that Harrow had no name for, separated from the rest of the flight and then flew away from one another.

When they were at the limits of sight from the ground, they wheeled their dragons back around and began to soar back in the other direction towards one another. It looked like the dragons would collide in mid-air. A wave of dismayed murmurs and gasps worked around the crowds as they became aware of this. However, as they closed, each rider stood up upon their mount and _leapt_ forward into the open air. The crowds actually cried out at seeing this.

Harrow's jaw dropped.

At the apogee of their arc, Astrid and Heather clanged their wrist-guards together in a shieldmaiden's greeting. Then, their dragons caught them again. They made low looping passes over the cheering crowds, pumping their arms over their heads in triumph. The crowds ate it up.

Next came Snotlout and his flaming Monstrous Nightmare. They approached from out over the harbor, low and fast. Their flight path brought them just over the lip of the cliff and over the carefully constructed bonfire pile.

"Coming in hot!" Snotlout called as the Nightmare lit the bonfire with the flames of it's passing, before abruptly pulling up over the crowd. Harrow could feel the heat rolling off the great lizard and was utterly astounded that no one had been hurt. The crowd, fearful at first, became jubilant after they realized there had never been any real danger to them.

Triumphant, Snotlout looked like he had forgotten his earlier troubles, about the stories that were going around that painted Harrow as a living saint to Thor.

Right now, the whole village was cheering his dragon and him, and nothing else mattered. Harrow envied being so simple minded.

Now Tuffnut and Ruffnut rode high up into the sky over Berk upon their faithful Hideous Zippleback, Barf and Belch. Barf was emitting a long streamer of Zippleback gas as they began to curve and loop through the air. At first, the crowds murmured in confusion. _What were they doing up there_?

It became apparent to Harrow that the twins were drawing a huge rendition of the Hooligan tribal emblem, the grimacing Viking face that adorned the sails of the ships, the harbor guardians, and the guardians at the door to the Mead Hall.

The rest of the crowd finally understood the grand design when Belch lit the whole thing off with a spark. The design burst into flame, briefing turning day into night, before the whole thing drifted gently on the wind.

Fishlegs, and his Gronckle, Meatlug, came rocketing through the rapidly shrinking center of the fiery emblem at the fastest possible speed that a Gronckle could sustain.

Harrow looked on with bemused awe as the husky Viking man performed perhaps the most dangerous act he had ever seen him undertake in his short time on Berk. He had thought of Fishlegs as being the meek, gentle type on first meeting the dragon scholar. This act proved that he was a Viking deep down at his core, as much a daredevil as all the rest in his own right.

The best was saved for last. Hiccup and Toothless climbed up high into the sky as the fiery Hooligan emblem finally burned out. At the top of the climb, Toothless stalled out and flipped over backwards into a power dive. The telltale high-speed whistle of the Night Fury preceded their approach like a storm front.

However, instead of people diving for the deck in abject terror as would be dictated by tradition and good sense, they cheered. In fact, of all the rounds of adoration given so far, it was by far the loudest and longest display.

Toothless and Hiccup leveled out of the power dive over the village square and took off flying just over rooftop level, weaving through the streets.

All seemed well as the exhibition flight came to an end.

Abruptly, Toothless and Hiccup dove for the crowd, alighting not too far away from where Harrow, Mulch, and Bucket were spectating the celebration. The Night Fury landed and immediately assumed a threatening stance, cornering three Viking men who all bore a strong family resemblance with the same handle-bar mustache.

They cowered together as Hiccup speared them with a hostile glare, his red warpaint giving him a fierce demeanor. "Who are you!?"

"P-please don't harm them, Hiccup!" A fourth man, who _also_ bore a striking resemblance to the first three, cried as he ran up.

"Wait, Sven, you know these guys?" Hiccup asked dubiously, indicating the three cowering Vikings with a wave of a hand.

"Sure! They're my uncles! Whispering Waldo, Mute Marvin, and Soft-Spoken Sam! They're just boat-lagged from their long journey!"

Each of the three uncles timidly greeted Hiccup when they were named. Harrow watched as the tension melted away from Hiccup as he realized that he had nearly made a terrible mistake. Astrid landed nearby atop her Nadder, watching Hiccup carefully.

Sitting back in his saddle, Hiccup let out a deep breath. "Sorry, Sven. And you, too, Wailing Waldo, Muttering Marvin…er, oh, forget it! Nevermind! Welcome to Berk."

And off he flew on Toothless, with Astrid in hot pursuit upon her Nadder. The expression on her war-painted face was pensive. Something had happened, there, to make Hiccup react with such paranoia.

Harrow thought back to that first meal he had shared with the Riders of Berk, when Tuffnut had mentioned the bounty on Hiccup's head. He could sympathize with Hiccup, though from the other end of the line. It was no fun constantly watching over one's shoulder.

The crowd had witnessed all of this and it had dampened their mood somewhat. There was uneasy muttering, the crowd shifting like tall grass in a wind as they strained to see who Hiccup had been speaking to. Sven ushered his Uncles away quietly as Gobber spoke to the crowd from the stage. Stoick seemed thoughtful, looking in the direction his son had flown away.

"Hmm, wonder what that was all about?" Mulch mused, tugging on his thick beard. He glanced sidelong at Harrow. "You wouldn't happen to know, eh, lad?"

Harrow shook his head slowly. "I don't. I'm just an outsider looking in, Mulch."

"Huh." Mulch grunted thoughtfully. "Oh well, maybe it's nothing. Let's go back to enjoying the evening, shall we?"

"Go on without me, Mulch." Harrow sighed, feeling a sudden bout of exhaustion overtake him. "I'm going to go find somewhere to sit down."

Mulch peered at Harrow's face. "Are you feeling well, lad?"

"Just tired." Harrow assured him. "This is the longest I've stood on my feet since I got injured, so I'm kinda drained."

"Okay. Maybe we'll run across one another some other time, tonight." Mulch replied. "But, if you're feeling bad, maybe you should retire early?"

Harrow favored him with a wan smile. "Maybe."

Mulch slapped him on the back and collected Bucket before disappearing into the milling crowd of Vikings.

Harrow pushed his way through the crowd. He had seen a carved wooden bench out in front of a house at the edge of the village center. Thankfully, the bench was empty. He sat down and laid his head back against the bench's backrest. His legs felt like jelly and a familiar throbbing was beginning behind his bad eye.

He groaned. "Ugh, not now."

He had almost forgot about his headaches. Another unwelcome reminder of life before coming to Berk.

He felt someone take a seat beside him on the bench. He cracked his good eye and saw Ruffnut, her face daubed artfully in yellow and green warpaint, watching him with concern. "You okay, tough guy?"

Harrow snorted despite himself. "Tough guy?"

Ruffnut shrugged. "You're always trying to downplay how bad your feeling. Like right now, I bet. You look sick."

"I'm up past my bedtime." He quipped, deadpan. "And my body is reminding me."

"Do you want to go back to the guest lodge?"

"What, and miss the rest of this party?" Harrow replied, doubtful. "No way! I just need something to fortify me. Could you get me a drink?"

Ruffnut huffed archly. "What do I look like, your personal serving wench?"

"Please?" He favored her with what he hoped was a dazzling smile. He watched her petulance dissolve as she rolled her eyes.

"Fine! Gods, I can't resist that look!" She groaned. She stood and looked down at him. "Mead or ale?"

"Actually, if there happens to be wine, I'd take that gladly." Harrow answered carefully.

Ruffnut arched both brows incredulously. " _Really_?"

"I'll owe you big, Ruff."

"Gods-damned right, you will!" She declared. She reached down and poked him in the chest. "Now, sit right there and don't move. I'll be right back."

Ruffnut stalked into the crowd in search of the refreshment vendors. Harrow couldn't believe that she actually went to go get him something to drink. And wine of all things! He made the uncomfortable realization that this _crush_ could be a useful tool, if he wanted it be. Not that he was thrilled with the idea of emotionally manipulating Ruffnut like that, but there it was as an option. But would he stoop so low?

He watched the crowd for Ruffnut's return. Instead of finding her face in the sea of Vikings around him, he was startled to pick out another pair that he had not expected at all.

Pike and Orley.

 _Bounty hunters_. From Port Tempest. _Here_ , on Berk! Harrow could not believe his bad luck. Both men were typical Vikings physically, large and imposing. Both were molded from the same clay, strong and ugly. They were usually some of his toughest competition for contracts. He remembered poaching a few marks from them.

Now they were here. What were the odds? They would recognize him if they got a good look at his face. Hel, if they even so much as saw his scar, they'd know who he was!

The two bounty hunters tried their best to blend into the crowd. They drank and ate, pretending and failing to appear a natural part of the scene. Harrow supposed they would seem like someone's distant cousin, so would remain undisturbed. Not that anyone would be particularly curious tonight, not with drinks and entertainment to be had.

Suddenly, Pike leaned over and said something to Orley. A moment passed before both men broke from the mass of people and walked in Harrow's direction.

Harrow suffered a minor panic attack. His heart jumped up into his throat as he tried to figure out how they had seen him through the crowd. Had they even looked? He didn't think so. What was he going to do? He couldn't start a confrontation here, amidst the crowd!

But the two grim-faced thugs weren't headed directly for him, hadn't even spotted him at all. They passed by the bench he sat on and ducked down the empty street.

"Shit!" Harrow hissed, willing his heart to stop beating so fast. His palms had begun to sweat, he had been so sure they were coming to deal with him.

It was beyond obvious to Harrow they were here for Hiccup. Viggo's bounty was still good, and it was by no means exclusively for him. It was only by the will of the Three Fates that Berk wasn't crawling with bounty hunters.

Well, _more_ so than it already was, counting himself and those other two.

He stood up, ignoring the headache and his legs' desire to quiver. He damned his weakness. He dare not coddle himself, not with competition on the track of his mark.

Because, if Pike and Orley managed to get ahold of Hiccup, Signy was as good as dead.

Plus, it was the _principle_ of the thing.

 _Gods,_ he hated competition!

He pressed forward, following in the direction he had seen the two men go, and was relieved to find that they hadn't gone far. They had merely ducked into a shadowy alley between two houses fifty paces up the street and were huddled together, whispering while casting furtive glances around.

He suppressed a derisive snort. _What a bunch of amateurs_!

Harrow approached the alley quietly. He saw that his shadow was being cast ahead of himself by the light streaming down the street from the town center. He paused, sure that would tip Pike and Orley off. After a moment of thought he pressed himself up against the front of the houses. His shadow disappeared. He inched his way side-on along the front of the house until he could make out what was being said.

"... supposed to get past a Thor-blasted Night Fury?!" the voice of Orley hissed urgently. "We didn't sign up for no gods-damned dragon-fighting!"

"Don't fret, I got a plan." Pike whispered harshly. There was a rustling cloth sound as he opened something, maybe a sack or a pouch. "We use this!"

There was a beat of pregnant silence.

"Uh, that's… just blades of grass." Orley whispered back, unimpressed.

"Not just any grass, Orley, my lad." Pike explained patiently. "It's that stuff these mad Hooligans call dragon nip. It knocks dragons out cold, it does. Makes them docile like an old tom cat."

"Well, which is it? It knocks 'em out or makes 'em lazy?"

"Suppose a little of both? Don't matter, so much as it'll make it so the dragon won't fuss us none."

The rustling cloth sounded again as the sack or pouch was closed.

"I hope so, Pike. I want to grab the runt and heel-and-toe off this dragon-infested rock fast as possible!"

"I hear you, this place makes my skin crawl. Vikings, living with dragons? This whole island is touched by Loki!" Pike whispered in reply.

"Now remember the plan, Orley. While these Hooligans are busy enjoying themselves, their precious Heir is all alone in the Chief's house. We give his dragon the nip, sneak inside, and give him a little bop on the head to keep him quiet."

"Then, we leg it out the back of the house and get to our boat." Orley added, continuing the plan. "And when they realize the runt is gone, we'll already be long gone."

"Aye, that we will be." Pike agreed. "Soon to be a thousand gold pieces richer!"

Harrow heard a sound that might have been stifled laughter from the two rival bounty hunters. Then he heard them start walking toward the street. He scuttled for the other side of the house and managed to duck around the corner into another alley. He froze in the darkness, waiting to see if they had caught a glimpse of him. When they didn't come to investigate, he relaxed a touch and crept to the house's corner. He waited another beat then risked a glance. Pike and Orley were two vague figures in the dark, moving away up the street toward the rise of the slope.

Toward the Spire, the Mead Hall, and Haddock Hall.

And Hiccup.

Harrow rushed back to the village center. He arrived back at the bench he had been sitting at just as Ruffnut appeared through the crowd. A cross expression darkened her face, a cup was clenched in one hand.

"Do you realize how hard it is to find a cup of this stuff right now?" She demanded of him, thrusting the cup at him as he reached for it. Dark red wine sloshed over the rim and coated the back of his hand. "Just wait, I think I know _exactly_ how I'm going call that favor in! And you better not even _dream_ of backing out!"

Mind turning, Harrow forced a smile at her and drank the wine as fast as he could. It did wonders for the pain in his head and his rattled nerves. A plan was forming as he drank. When he was finished, he put the cup down on the bench.

"Oh really, and how is that?"

"I'm not telling you, not yet! You'll have to suffer the agony of suspense." Ruffnut told him, smirking.

"Okay, fair enough." Harrow replied, sounding preoccupied. "Just hold that thought. I need to ask you for a favor."

" _Another_ one?"

Harrow blinked. "Uh, what was the first?"

Wordlessly, Ruffnut snatched up the empty cup and waved it in his face.

"Oh… right."

"So, what is it you want this time?" Ruffnut asked smugly, crossing her arms over chest and cocking a hip. "Just understand, this'll make _two_ favors owed. They're starting to add up."

"Fine." Harrow agreed brusquely. "I need you to go and get a hold of the chief. Tell him that he needs to head home _immediately_."

Now it was Ruffnut's turn to blankly stare. "What? Why should he do that?"

"Because, I think I saw two suspicious characters creeping away from the celebration a moment ago."

Ruffnut shrugged, unconcerned. "So? Could be just a couple of drunkards looking for somewhere to take a piss. No big deal."

Harrow fixed her with a hard gaze. "They were headed in the direction of Haddock Hall."

Ruffnut's expression went from blank incomprehension to high alert in about two seconds flat. "Bounty hunters!"

Harrow nodded grimly, his lips a thin line. "Exactly what I suspect."

Ruffnut grabbed him by the hand and started for the platform where Stoick had been sitting. "Well, come on! We can't wait a second longer!"

"Hold on a minute!" He held his ground, forcing her to look him in the eye by grabbing her by the shoulders. "If we both go to get the chief, they'll be free to grab Hiccup. Then who knows where they'll be? If I go now, I can catch them at the chief's house and slow them down."

"Are you _crazy_?" Ruffnut cried in dismay, trying to shrug away his hands. "You're not fully recovered from the _last_ fight you got into!"

"I know, I know… but this is too important!" Harrow argued, tightening his hold on her. "It was only just by luck that I saw these guys when they snuck off. I can't waste this chance!"

Ruffnut scowled, clearly unhappy with the idea. "You only slow them down, Harrow. Try not to need any more stitches!"

Surprising himself, Harrow flashed her when he hoped was a winning smile. "I make no promises."

Ruffnut surprised him even more when he grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him into a clumsy kiss.

That froze him on the spot. All thoughts of heading off the bounty hunters shuddered to a halt in his brain.

Ruffnut didn't seem to mind his sudden passivity, or maybe she too was stunned by her own boldness. She broke away from him with one of her old leers, and told him somewhat huskily. "That's for luck, then."

"Uh… r-right…" Harrow mumbled shakily. She ran off to get Stoick. He shook himself out of the stupor he had found himself in. He frowned furiously, glad of the dark. A confusing roiling ball of emotion churned in his belly.

He went forward into the night, hoping for a fight. He needed the distraction now.


	14. Crashing the Pary, Part 2

Harrow hurried up the slope towards Haddock Hall. The party was still in progress behind him in the village center, with music and the carousing wafting on the air. The people of Berk had no idea that their heir was in danger. He had to give credit where credit was due: this was a great plan, making off with Hiccup while the rest of the tribe was busy making merry.

He wondered if Pike and Orley had a boat hidden somewhere along the shore of Berk, or if they intended to steal one from the harbor. He supposed that wouldn't matter if he did his job right, and Ruffnut was quick enough in rousing the chief.

Haddock Hall seemed undisturbed and tranquil on first inspection. There was no windows on the first level, but there was a couple on the upper story. The flicker of candlelight could be seen through the wooden shutters. Hiccup was home, upstairs, probably trying to put the events of earlier out of his mind. Harrow wondered if Astrid was up there with him. That would be a great relief.

And, probably, a great scandal.

As he approached the chief's house, a sound caught his attention. A kind of low whine punctuated with a warble. He focused on the noise and walked around to the back of the large home.

There, he found Toothless sprawled on his side, moaning softly in a dreamy manner. The dragon's nostrils flared as Harrow approached. Toothless shifted his head, opened his bright green eyes. Harrow observed with a sinking feeling that the dragon's pupils were far too large to be normal.

Toothless trilled querulously. It might have been a question. Harrow edged closer, put out a cautious hand, spoke softly. "Sorry, pal, looks like they already got to you."

Toothless moaned again, low in the back of his throat. He tried to pick his head up, flopped nervelessly back to lay in the grass. His wings rustled and his tail twitched, but there was no coordination.

"Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to Hiccup." Harrow promised, gently caressing the feverish scales at the top of the Night Fury's head. "You just focus on getting your head on straight."

The dragon huffed a sigh through its nose. Resignation or relief, Harrow could not guess.

A muffled sound floated out from the back door of Haddock Hall. A struggle, short and muted by distance and artifice. Pike and Orley were not wasting time.

Neither would Harrow.

He crept up the short stair and through the back door of the chief's home. He found himself in a scullery niche, the floor stone tile and the walls age-worn wood panels. A counter with a stone tub of cold soapy water was on his right, half-filled with soiled crockery, utensils and mugs. On his left, wooden cabinets and shelves for storage. Ahead, a doorway into a short hall.

He advanced carefully, crouched to ease his weight on the now wooden floorboards. He hoped to the gods that they would not creak as he stepped upon them. He heard muffled speech above as he moved.

The short hall lead to the main living area of the building. On his right, a stout wooden door. He carefully opened the door, hoping against squeaky hinges. The hinges were old but well-maintained. Beyond, he saw what he supposed was the chief's bedroom, complete with a massive bed piled with furs and blankets. He shut the door quickly.

Harrow prowled ahead into the main living space like a stalking wolf. A great stone hearth dominated the interior wall. The fire had been banked and the sullen coals provided a dim light, casting weak shadows throughout the room. There was a wide flagstone apron before the hearth and on it stood a heavy wooden table. Four ornately carved chairs could just be made out around the table, two on either long side. Iron hooks set into the hearth held utensils for cooking and for managing the fire itself.

There was a couch composed of long, low carved wood benches covered with cushions and furs. Before the couch lay a great bearskin rug, complete with the head and paws of the animal. Weapons and shields hung from the walls. In one corner, a small votive shrine to Odin and Baldr had been set up. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke.

Toward the far end of the living space on the other end of the house was the great front door of Haddock Hall, a sturdy thing of thick wood and iron studs. Hooks for hanging cloaks, coats, and helmets was set by the door's frame. A little step was situated underneath for boots. Across from the door there was a set of stairs that had been built out from the exterior wall. The stone chute of the chimney gave the stairs support on the interior.

A second-story loft took up the space over the main living area and was accessed by those stairs. That was where the candlelight had originated, Harrow realized. That was where Hiccup must have his bedroom. Pike and Orley were speaking in hushed tones up there now, and by what Harrow could make out, they were worried. Pike wondered if Orley had struck Hiccup too hard over the back of the head. It sounded like Orley was only worried that they were taking too long to get away.

Harrow decided to lurk in the thickest shadows of the main living area. He plucked a mace off of its hook on the wall nearby. His idea was to ambush whomever came down the stairs second from behind, hopefully knock them unconscious. Then he'd rush the other bounty hunter before he knew what was going on. That was the plan.

He hoped it survived contact with reality.

He didn't have to wait long. The two bounty hunters came to a consensus and started down the stairs. Now they were not worrying about stealth. They had what they came for and were looking to get away from Haddock Hall, posthaste.

Pike came first. He didn't even glance in Harrow's direction. His gaze was fixed firmly on the back hall, on getting to the scullery and out the back door to freedom. Orley came second, with an unconscious Hiccup slung over his right shoulder like a sack of flour. The young man's arms hung loosely down and his head lolled on his neck. He also didn't notice Harrow crouching in the shadows. He was just as focused on making the getaway.

Harrow frowned, tightening his grip on the borrowed mace in his right hand. He waited till Orley had his back turned before he smoothly stood, took three quick steps to come up behind the big bounty hunter, then thumped him good on the back of the head. He struck as hard as he could given his diminished strength. He prayed to Thor that it was enough. He couldn't afford to fight two big bruisers at once in his condition.

Orley made not a sound as the blow landed with a dull thump. His grip on Hiccup's unconscious form slackened and he went down on his knees. Harrow tried his best to ease Hiccup's landing but he was dismayed to find his strength not up to the task. Orley made a grunting sound as he pitched forward onto his front. Harrow cursed. He hadn't thought the man would have been able to utter a sound.

So much for the gods-damned plan.

"Oi! Orley, what's wrong?" Pike demanded to know, whirling around. He had just reached the back hall. He squinted back through the dim light to see his partner down and unmoving on the floor. Then his gaze abruptly lifted and he made out the dim form of Harrow kneeling next to the fallen heir of Berk. " _Loki's sagging balls_!"

"You ought to run away now, if you know what's good for you." Harrow threatened, straightening up. He lifted the mace in his hand, hoping that it didn't tremble. Blood gleamed on the rounded head. "Unless you want to follow your brother down to Hel."

Pike stared coldly for a moment.

Then he laughed.

"You sure are full of yourself, lad! That was a pretty trick, sneaking up on ole Orley like that. Laid him out good. But I see you, now. How's about we see how well you do in a straight up fight, eh?"

Pike advanced, producing a long knife from his belt. The blade of the knife gleamed weakly by the light of the banked coals. It had a fine point and jagged edge.

Harrow carefully stepped over Hiccup, the mace out before him. It wasn't his preferred weapon, and he wasn't terribly sure how it would match up against a bigger man with a dagger. But, he had to keep playing for time. Help was on the way.

He hoped.

"You really want to have a good old-fashioned one-on-one, here? Now?" Harrow taunted the other bounty hunter. "Doesn't it bother you that I'm here?"

"Shut up, you little puke." Pike sneered, unafraid. "What are you on about? You're about to die, from where I stand."

Harrow grinned wolfishly. "I'm saying, I'm stalling for time, moron!"

Pike paused, his ugly face astonished as the thought finally occurred to him. Then it contorted into an expression of rage.

"You little bastard! I'll kill you quick, and then grab the runt and be gone long before whatever help you think is coming gets here!"

As if on cue, a horn called outside. The meaning was clear. Ruffnut had managed to find the chief, and the chief was raising the alarm.

Harrow favored the older man with a cheeky grin. "Better hurry up, then."

Pike bellowed incoherently in his building rage. He rushed forward, lunging with the knife. Harrow side-stepped to the left, swung the mace hard at Pike's outstretched arm. Pike snapped his arm back and narrowly avoided having his forearm shattered. Harrow didn't anticipate the weight of the mace and how hard it would be to recover for another swing.

Pike laughed nastily, stepped inside Harrow's reach as he was hopelessly out of position, and slashed with the dagger at his stomach. Cursing, Harrow threw his hips backwards, felt the tip of the dagger slice effortlessly through the material of the shirt he wore.

Pike threw a surprise left hook and caught him on the chin. Harrow reeled back a step, tried to wave the mace in a defensive pattern against a quick stab to his vulnerable front, and felt his wrist seized in a vise-like grip. Pike twisted sharply, forcing Harrow to drop the mace's handle or have his wrist snapped like a twig.

The big bounty hunter went to stick Harrow in the stomach with the dagger. Harrow grabbed the oncoming blade with his free hand, felt the blade bite deeply into the flesh of his unprotected palm. He felt blood start to well up in the wound.

The two men struggled and strained against one another for a moment, each not daring to relinquish their hold on the other. They were almost nose-to-nose in the fitful light, shadows crawling and dancing over them.

"Well, looks like you can put up a good fight head-on after all." Pike mused tightly, baring his teeth. "But you really are stupid, grabbing a naked blade with a bare hand!"

" _You're_ the stupid one, trying to fight me while the chief and his men close in!" Harrow grunted back, determined to not give away how quickly his reserve of strength was fading. His arm muscles screamed at him. His left hand throbbed as hot blood dripped down on the dagger's edge and gathered on the floor.

Pike rasped an amused laugh. "They're taking their sweet time, lad. I think maybe they're too drunk to be much help for you! Ain't that too bad?"

Harrow wondered if he was right. It wasn't far from the village center to get to Haddock Hall. _Where in Hel was his back-up?_

His foe sensed an opening. Pike suddenly yanked Harrow forward and savagely slammed his left knee up into Harrow's ribs with a meaty smack. Right over the healing spear wound. His vision lost focus and he made a strangled sound, would have screamed bloody murder if he still had breath.

Down he crashed to the floor. He instinctively curled to protect his wounded side, feeling like his insides had been shattered. Hot tears spilled unbidden from his eyes.

Pike loomed over him, panting. He roughly toed the younger man onto his back and laughed as he leaned down.

"Ah, I thought you was familiar! Harrow Gudmunson, the infamous Hel's Hound. As I live and breath! Are you out for Viggo's bounty, too?"

Groaning, Harrow would have swore a blue streak if he could. This situation was going from bad to worse fast. He willed the pain to ease up, tried to ignore it but it felt like a hot auger had been driven into his side. Had his ribs been broken?

To make matters worse, Orley moaned like he was coming around.

 _The gods must hate me_. Harrow thought miserably. _Thought I killed him._

Pike looked over his shoulder as his partner and brother slowly pushed himself up on his hands and knees. "Glad to see you haven't gone to Hel just yet."

"Nah… but I have a bastard of a headache…" Orley muttered, hauling himself up, reaching with a hand for the Haddock's table for leverage. He gingerly touched the back of his head and winced as it came away wet with blood. "What happened, Pike?"

A horn called again outside somewhere much closer now. Pike scowled at the sound. "Don't worry about it, partner. Just grab the runt. We'll fix you up when we're clear of this place."

Orley grunted in reply. He glanced down at Harrow, a trifle unsteady, eyes unfocused in the uncertain light. "Who's that, now?"

"Just a washed up bounty hunter, Orley." Pike replied, dismissive. He planted a foot on Harrow's chest and leaned his weight on it. Harrow whimpered as his already aggravated body was abused further.

"Nothing to worry about."

The sneering bounty hunter flipped his dagger point-down in his hand. He prepared to jam it down. From Harrow's perspective, it looked like he wanted to punch the blade through his good eye and into his brain. At least it would be a quick death.

But fate had other plans for the Hel's Hound.

The front door suddenly slammed open. Torchlight spilled in from outside, silhouetting Astrid in all her fierce glory. She seemed like an avenging valkyrie, deadly and proud. Her axe was in her hands and when her eyes fell upon the still form of Hiccup, her fury could not be contained.

Orley, disoriented as he was, decided rather foolishly that he could take the young shieldmaiden down if he tried to rush her. He bellowed a warcry. The big oaf took all of two steps before the blade of Astrid's axe slammed into his chest. His eyes bugged stupidly in his head.

"Shit!" Pike cried out in dismay. Orley made a disbelieving noise as he fell backwards to the floor, tugging the handle of the axe from Astrid's hands. She turned her icy gaze on Pike, her fists clenching until her knuckles were white. Her gaze promised a much slower end for him.

Pike didn't wait around. He aimed a hasty throw and hurled his dagger at her before turning and bolting for the back hall of the house.

Astrid dodged the knife with contemptuous ease. The dagger lodged itself at head-level in the front door and quivered in place. She plucked it from the wood without looking, stalked after the fleeing man with a snarl on her lips. She went straight to Hiccup's side when she returned, apparently satisfied that the villain had fled for good.

"Come on, Hiccup! Wake up!" She softly pleaded with the unconscious young man. "You have to wake up! Please!"

Harrow forgot his own plight for a second, ignored the pain. His endeavors would be for naught if Hiccup didn't come around. If he died, then everything had been for naught.

In the flickering light that now streamed in from outside, Harrow watched as Astrid knelt beside Hiccup and gathered him up in her arms. She cradled his head against her breast and spoke softly to him. What she said at that moment, Harrow couldn't hear.

Miraculously, Hiccup stirred in her arms. He coughed, then groaned. " _Ugh_ … did anyone get... the name of the jotun who hit me?"

"Hiccup!" Astrid exclaimed, her voice breaking with emotion. "Oh, Hiccup! I thought… you were so still... "

Hiccup coughed again, and the sound turned into a weak laugh. "I'm not… I wouldn't… _Argh_ , I'm still here! Don't… don't squeeze so hard!"

Astrid laughed, a relieved sound.

Another sound came from the back hall. Harrow heard an uncoordinated scratching like claws on the stone and wood floor. Astrid whipped her head around, tensed with the dagger in hand. She was primed to throw.

"Toothless!" Hiccup cried.

Sure enough, the faithful Night Fury was stumbling on all fours across the intervening space toward his stricken friend, crooning softly. Astrid relaxed, moved aside as Toothless sprawled himself in Hiccup's lap.

The dragon warbled sadly, like maybe he was trying to apologize for not being there to protect Hiccup.

"It's okay, bud. I'm okay now." Hiccup softly said to him, grimacing at the dragon's weight rested upon him..

"Hiccup!" A thunderous voice cried from outside. Heavy footsteps approached the open door at a full run. A vast shadow blotted out the torchlight and cast the room into darkness for a moment.

Stoick had arrived.

At his back, the sounds of voices and the jangle of harness and weapons. It sounded like the chief had brought a large contingent of Berk's warriors with him.

The chief spared them not one more thought as he caught sight of his son safe, Astrid and Toothless close at hand. He fell to his knees and took his son's face in his huge hands and nearly wept with relief.

"Hiccup! Thank the gods you're alright, son!"

Hiccup put a hand on his father's arm. "I'm okay, dad. Just… have a monster of a headache. _Ouch_!"

The chief felt around the back of his son's head and his expression hardened. Behind him, Gobber hobbled into the house. He took one look at the dead Orley and whistled low appreciatively.

"Gobber!" Stoick thundered. "Send someone to get Goethi! Hiccup needs a healer!"

"Right you are, Stoick!" Gobber replied cheerfully. "I'll send Fishlegs. Now, didn't Ruffnut say that Harrow lad would be around here, somewhere?"

"Harrow?" Stoick echoed, mystified.

Harrow groaned in the darkness away from the front door. "Here..."

"Harrow!" Stoick cried, surprised. He left Hiccup in Astrid's care. He knelt by the fallen young man and looked him over. "Are you alright, lad?"

"No… sir." He rasped, grimacing. "My side… the spear wound…"

Stoick nodded his understanding and looked back over his shoulder. "Gobber?! Where is Goethi!"

"Fishlegs is on it, chief." Gobber told him, frowning. "He can only run so fast, you know!"

"It's okay… sir." Harrow grunted to Stoick. "Look... after Hiccup."

"I can't thank you enough, lad." Stoick told him quietly, his features softening. "You have done a great service for me, for all of Berk. You didn't have to do this!"

"Yes… I did." Harrow sighed, breath becoming harder for him to catch.

If he wanted to save Signy. If he wanted to keep his oath.

If he didn't want to hate himself.

Stoick took up one of Harrow's hands in his own and favored him with a paternal smile. "Rest now, Harrow. You've done enough."

Then he was up, turning as Spitelout stepped through the front door and hailed him. "Chief, we've locked down the harbor like you wanted us to. Not a single boat is headed out any time soon. What are your orders now?"

"Post a few men to guard my house." Stoick ordered. "Astrid, did you see where the bastard went?"

Astrid shook her head, blinking away what may have been tears. "No, chief. I… I was just so focused on Hiccup…" She cleared her throat, her expression regretful. "I'm sorry, chief."

"No fault of yours, lass." Stoick told her gently. To Spitelout, he said, "Call out some tracker-class dragons. There are some amongst the Berk Guard. Take your son and the Thorston twins with you. Start sweeping the island. Leave no stone unturned!"

Spitelout nodded, his face grave. "Aye, chief. The whoreson couldn't have gone far. We'll find him!"

"Make sure you do!" Stoick growled, his brows knitting in anger. "He has a lot to answer for!"

Spitelout hurried out the door, bawling orders to those outside like the old veteran he was. A chorus of gruff affirmatives came back. The warriors of Berk were on the move.

Gobber and Fishlegs appeared next, Goethi hobbling only a step behind. Heather brought up the rear, her own axe in hand, her expression heavy with worry.

Goethi went to Hiccup first, but he waved her off. "I've just got a bump on the head, it's Harrow who really needs help!"

"Hiccup, you might have a concussion!" Astrid scolded, grabbing a hold of his hand.

But he wouldn't have any of it. He was adamant that Harrow needed the healer's attention first. Stoick looked on silently, tacitly approving of his son's decision. Though it defied every fatherly instinct he had, he was certain it was what a chief would do. This was a glimmer that his son perhaps was taking the chiefing lessons to heart.

Goethi looked to Stoick, her gaze questioning. Ultimately, his was the decision. Stoick nodded back stiffly.

The old mystic hobbled over to where Harrow lay. She motioned impatiently for Fishlegs to come near. The husky young man had the wax tablet and a stylus of tapered bone that the old mystic used to communicate with others using runes.

Fishlegs went to the little old woman and handed her the tablet. She scrawled something onto its soft surface and passed it back to him.

"Goethi asks what happened." Fishlegs read, licking his lips nervously.

"Knee… to the ribs…" Harrow gasped. "Hard…to breathe…"

Goethi shook her head, pulled up his shirt so that she could inspect the site in question. Fishlegs couldn't help but watch from over her shoulder. The wound was badly bruised and blood seeped from between the stitches. Goethi grunted, unhappy, and waggled her hand at Fishlegs. He gave her the tablet, she wiped it clean and wrote again, then handed it back.

Fishlegs paled as he read. "Goethi says that you're bleeding again in the wound, that the bones may be broken. There may be a danger to your lungs, too. She needs to open you back up to assess the damage."

"Is he going to be alright?" Hiccup asked, worried. Astrid had him in her arms again, helping him to sit up so he could see. She seemed unwilling to go without touching him for the moment.

Goethi erased the tablet and wrote again, fast as she could. Fishlegs read it. "It was very foolish of him to get into a fight, he wasn't fully healed. She'll try her best, but it's much worse now than it was before."

"Do you need us to carry him back to your hut?" Heather asked.

Goethi shook her head vehemently. She grabbed the tablet, wrote something without erasing the last message. Fishlegs moaned when he saw the message. "Goethi says there is no time! She has to operate soon, here, or he won't make it till morning. She lists some things she'll need."

"I'll go and get them." Gobber offered. "Heather, come with me. It'll go faster with two of us making a single trip to Goethi's hut."

Heather nodded. "Right." She spared Hiccup and Astrid a sympathetic look before she and the Master Blacksmith left. Stoick looked worried where he stood, shifting from one foot to the other

Goethi wrote another message. Fishlegs read it and turned to Astrid and Stoick. "Make sure Hiccup's comfortable, then put some water on to boil. Find some clean linens."

Astrid nodded, once, sharply. "Got it."

She put a shoulder under Hiccup's left armpit and helped him up. Then they realized that he didn't have his prosthetic on.

"It's probably upstairs still." Hiccup muttered, frowning. "They probably took it off so I couldn't run away."

"Don't worry about that now." Astrid murmured. She helped him over to the couch and got him down onto it.

Toothless followed and laid down at his foot. Stoick went to the hearth and grabbed the little black iron kettle used for cooking. He lumbered outside as fast as he could, came back with the kettle half full of well water.

"I don't think it'll come to a boil fast enough." Fishlegs observed dubiously as Stoick went to go hang it over the banked flames of the hearth.

Stoick glared. "What would you have me do, then?"

"Don't worry, dad. We have it covered." Hiccup gave Toothless a pat on the snout, smiling. "Go on, bud. Give it a low power blast."

The Night Fury warbled and shot at the kettle where it hung. The kettle absorbed the reduced yield plasma blast and set the water to an instant rolling boil.

Stoick was suitably impressed. "That will do."

A scant while later, Gobber returned with Heather. They both brought an armload of healing supplies with them.

Goethi directed them to set their burdens down by her. She knelt with a grunt by Harrow's side. She once more took the tablet from Fishlegs, erased the previous messages, wrote another long one.

Fishlegs took it and read. "Okay, Goethi says she's going to need help. Astrid, bring the water and linens over. Heather, hand Goethi the tools and other things you brought from her hut when I prompt you to." He cleared his throat. "Oh, and Gobber?"

"Aye?" He asked, perking up where he waited by the front door.

Fishlegs simpered. "She wants you to drag the dead man away, please."

"Oh. Sure, no problem. I'll just…" He worked Astrid's axe loose from the poor man's chest cavity with a wet sucking sound. He winced, the blade was notched where it had bit into the man's breastbone. "Eh, er…. I guess this'll need some... er, work."

Astrid frowned at the sight of her axe. "Worry about that later."

Gobber wisely decided to just get on with his business. He grabbed the dead man by the ankle with his good hand and hauled him out like a freshly slaughtered side of yak-meat.

Shivering, Harrow looked up as Astrid and Heather joined Goethi at his side. Fishlegs peered over Goethi's shoulder, tablet in hand. Stoick looked on from beside the couch, towering even so far away. Hiccup strained to watch, concern on his pallid face. Harrow idly wondered if he'd ever see these people again should he close his eyes. The pain was steadily getting worse, radiating throughout his body from his wounded flank. Breath was becoming a great act of will. A pressure in his side seemed to be stealing his air.

Goethi presently uncorked a small brown bottle. She tried to offer him a comforting smile. The smell coming from the open bottle was awful. More of the old woman's pain killer potion, he supposed dimly. He would have sighed in long sufferance if he could have drawn the breath to do so.

Things were going to get much worse before they got better.

He drank the foul medicine, and knew no more.


	15. Uncertainty

Hiccup tried to watch the surgery. His father had told him to rest instead, but how could he? Someone else had been hurt on his behalf. He felt awful that he couldn't do anything to help. He was frustrated that once again he had been caught off guard by his enemies. Did the gods intend to keep him constantly on the backfoot, reacting to the actions of his foes? The pain of his own injury, the goose-egg on the back of his skull, only served to deepen his already dark mood.

Hiccup had lost the fight with his own body in the end. He didn't know when he had nodded off, but the next thing he knew he was waking up in his own bed. His loft was quiet and dark. Toothless snored gently on the floor beside him, ear flaps twitching now and again. He listened to the stillness of the house, wondering if everyone was still downstairs in the main room. Only the wind outside his window made a sound.

Until a truly enormous snore erupted from somewhere nearby. Hiccup started, his heart stopping for a second in his chest. His eyes adjusted and he saw the hulk of his father sitting by his desk, his chin down on his chest, thick arms crossed and hands clasped. It looked like he had fallen asleep watching his son.

He relaxed then, realizing that his father had decided to stand watch even after having a long day overseeing the anniversary celebration and the attendant after-events. Hiccup could imagine his father setting his mind up to do this. Astrid would have in his place, if his father had allowed.

But, nearly averted crisis or no, having her stay the night would send some… _signals_ to the rest of the village.

Hiccup felt his cheeks warm when he thought along those lines, but pushed those thoughts to the background. There would come a time for that.

Another snore thundered from the sleeping chief. This time they were so loud he woke himself up. He surged to wakefulness, grumbling and blinking. Then he fixed heavy-lidded green eyes on Hiccup, and frowned. "You should be asleep, son."

Hiccup shrugged. "I was, though I don't know how with you right there sounding like a whole herd of yak."

Stoick glared at him, then looked away. Did he look sheepish? "I didn't think I was… _that_ loud."

"Dad, you snore like a _landslide._ "

"I'm sorry, Hiccup." Stoick said softly, abashedly, shifting in the too-small chair. "I didn't mean to disturb your rest."

"I know."

The chief regarded his boots silently for a while. The wind came again and rattled the shutters of the loft window. Outside, Hiccup heard the all-clear call of the night watch on their rounds. Things had apparently calmed down on Berk after the excitement of earlier.

"Did you catch the guy who tried to kidnap me?" Hiccup asked on realizing this.

Stoick's expression hardened if only for a moment. He nodded. "Aye, he was skirting the edge of the village through the forest, headed toward the harbor. Snotlout and Hookfang brought him down."

 _That_ was surprising. Hiccup filed that tidbit away for later reference. "So, what'll happen to him now?"

Frowning deeply, Stoick flexed his hands like he wanted to feel the handle of a weapon in them. Or maybe like he wanted to wrap his hands around the bounty hunter's throat. "We'll _interrogate_ him. See what he knows."

Hiccup had a sinking feeling on hearing that. He had never told his father about the bounty Viggo had put on his head. With nothing to lose, the bounty hunter would spill his guts. Stoick would be furious to learn of the bounty from him. He would expect Hiccup to tell him.

Like he should have days ago.

"Uh, Dad, there is _something_ I need to tell you…"

Stoick sighed and wiped a broad hand down his weary face. "Save it, Hiccup. I have some good guesses as to what it is, but right now I'm just glad you're here. Safe and sound, thank all the gods of Asgard."

Hiccup nodded, swallowed against a lump in his throat. There would be a reckoning tomorrow. That was alright. Because he'd be there to hear it.

Stoick stared silently into the middle distance, thinking. Eventually he said, "I can't seem to wrap my mind around that lad, Harrow."

"What about him?"

"He was badly injured, weak, outnumbered… and still he chose to act." Stoick murmured reflectively. He tugged at his beard, playing with a braid in his thick forefinger and thumb. "He had already sent Ruffnut to find me. Why didn't he wait? What was he trying to prove?"

Hiccup furrowed his brow on hearing this information. It _didn't_ make a lot of sense. It was reckless in the extreme. Foolhardy, to put a fine point on it. What could possess a person?

"I don't know, Dad. But, for whatever reason he did it, I'm glad. I may not have been here if he waited."

"Well, if Astrid hadn't rushed ahead like she did, Harrow might have died for nothing." Stoick declared flatly. "Because you would have been gone just the same."

"Did she really kill that bounty hunter?" Hiccup wondered aloud. He remembered seeing the body with her axe buried in it's chest, but anyone else could have dealt the deathblow.

"Aye, that she did." Stoick told him proudly, a brief smile curling his lips. "And she would have slit the throat of the other one, too, if she had been able to catch him."

Astrid had _killed_ to protect him. The thought sent shivers up and down his spine. He had always known she felt protective about him, but he would have never guessed that those feelings ran so strong.

"So, what happens now?" Hiccup asked. He reached down and ran his fingertips along Toothless's flank. The dragon hummed, shifted, settled again happily.

"In a few days time, we'll have to try the bounty hunter for his crime." Stoick replied, folding his hands across his belly. "You know as well as I do that the penalty for attempting to abduct or harm an heir to the chiefdom is punishable by death. The trial will be brief. The sentence carried out shortly thereafter."

Hiccup's finger tips froze in their stroking motion across Toothless's scales. He sighed. His frown was deep.

Stoick fixed him with a stern look. "The law is the law, Hiccup. We can't show that kind of scum leniency. Bounty hunters are not welcome on Berk."

"What about Harrow?"

"Goethi worked a miracle, there." Stoick said, then went on with a hint of respect. "He's a tough son of Odin, that boy. He must have fought Hel tooth and nail for his soul. The fates must be upset with him, since they've tried twice with the same wound to claim him in death." He chuckled. "But he made it through the surgery fine. He's resting downstairs."

Hiccup regarded his father with astonishment. "You didn't have him taken back to the guest lodge?"

Now it was Stoick's turn to frown. "No, Goethi said he was in a fragile state. He needs rest. As do you, might I add." He added as an aside after a moment. Then, he added, "Plus, what would the village say? Probably say I was an ingrate, casting him out after doing what he did for me, by saving you."

"Now, wouldn't want that, would we?" Hiccup drawled, smiling faintly. Stoick smiled back, long-used to his sarcasm. "I'm going to go to bed. See to it that you're still here in the morning."

"Toothless is right here." Hiccup assured his father. "I'm safe as can be."

Stoick left the loft mentally thanking all the gods in Asgard again for that.

Morning came quickly. Light streamed in through the shutters at the loft window. Hiccup would have gone on sleeping despite that if Toothless hadn't stuck his scaly snout under the blankets to check on him.

"Good morning, bud." Hiccup greeted him on the edge of a yawn. He sat up, winced as he found his neck had become sore. His headache was gone but the bump on his head was still tender when he touched it.

Toothless crooned at him softly after seeing him wince in discomfort. Hiccup patted him on the head. "I'm feeling better, don't worry. How about you, bud? Fishlegs said you were drugged last night. Back to normal?"

Toothless warbled, turned a tight circle in the middle of the loft, bobbed his head, tongue lolling. Hiccup laughed. "Yeah, you look alright. You hungry?"

The Night Fury wagged his tail happily, barked, and scurried out the loft and down the stairs. Hiccup winced when he heard his father shout down below. Toothless never could understand the concept of patience when waiting to be fed. Chances are if he didn't get down fast enough breakfast would be whatever the dragon didn't eat.

So, he dressed quickly, fitted his prosthetic on his leg, put on his one boot, and descended. He paused at the blood stain just inside the front door. It had been cleaned up to the best of anyone's ability, mopped up and scrubbed away with handfuls of coarse sand, but it still could be seen. A red tinge would forever mark the worn floorboards there. An indelible reminder that he had almost been snatched away. Deliberately, Hiccup stepped over it.

Stoick was at the table. He had already stirred the flames in the hearth from their slumber, fed the coals with fresh dry wood. A porridge had been prepared. His father couldn't manage anything else and have it come out halfway edible.

Besides, cooking was women's work, and the Chief of the Berk could not debase his station. Hiccup thought it was a stupid notion.

Toothless was trying to snatch fish from the basket set aside for their storage. Stoick was threatening the dragon with a large wooden spoon, frowning thunderously. A more comical scene could not be found, Hiccup thought to himself. He tried not to laugh and failed.

"Son, get control of that confounded lizard! He's going to snap up every scrap of fish in this house if he has his way." Stoick said, slamming the spoon down onto the table beside his wooden bowl.

"Fishlegs did say that one side effect of overdosing on dragon nip was a massive appetite." Hiccup mused, grinning at the Night Fury's antics.

Stoick grunted in annoyance. "If that's the case, you can go and buy us another basket or two of fish."

Toothless gulped down the last fish and smacked his lips. He warbled at Hiccup and walked over to nudge him in the side with the flat of his head. Hiccup scratched him under the chin. "Got the munchies, huh, bud?"

"Made some porridge." Stoick interjected, spooning some of the aforementioned food into Hiccup's bowl. "We still have honey and dried berries, if you want them."

"Sounds good." Hiccup remarked, and went to go grab those items from the shelf by the hearth. He glanced to the couch and saw Harrow, chest wrapped tightly in bandages, resting there. He hadn't even stirred amidst all the racket and clamour. He grabbed the honey and berries and went to sat down beside his father at the table.

"Huh, Harrow didn't even budge. Did Goethi drug him before she left last night?" Hiccup wondered, mixing a spoonful of honey and a heaping handful of berries into his portion of porridge.

Stoick flicked a glance at where the wounded young man lay. "She must have. He's still breathing but sleeping like a stone."

"At least you checked." Hiccup remarked dryly. Stoick gave him a mild look. Father and son ate then in a silence only disturbed by the crackle of the fire. Toothless was silent at Hiccup's feet, content with a belly full of fish and his boy nearby.

"I take it your head isn't bothering you." Stoick asked after a while, looking speculatively at his son.

"No, not as bad as last night." Hiccup told him. "Though the bump still hurts."

"Maybe Goethi has something you can take for the pain?"

"I'll deal with it." Hiccup insisted, dreading the healer's foul tasting medicine. "I've felt worse."

Stoick nodded, silently agreeing with him.

When they were finished, Hiccup rose and gathered up both of their bowls. He dumped them into the scullery basin at the back of the house. Another woman's job. But, once again, in a house without a woman around, it fell on them.

Meanwhile, Stoick stood up and straightened himself out, making sure no errant glob of porridge remained in its beard or mustache. A chief couldn't be taken seriously if he still wore his breakfast, after all. He headed to the door, grabbed his horned helm from its customary hook and jammed it onto his head. "Alright, I'm off to go have a word with our _guest_."

"Okay. I guess I'll see you around the village." Hiccup replied, walking back into the main room. He glanced at Harrow. "What should we do about him?"

Stoick thought for a moment. "We probably shouldn't leave him alone. Maybe one of the Riders wouldn't mind keeping an eye on him while you're gone?"

"Yeah, that could work."

Stoick nodded, flicked another glance at the wounded young man, then left.

Toothless looked up at him from the floor. He tilted his head, crooned at his rider. They had so far observed all of the normal morning rituals. All of them, save one.

"You're waiting for your morning flight, aren't you?" Hiccup shrewdly asked. Toothless gave a happy warble back and got up on his feet. He ambled to the door, looked back pointedly. Hiccup got up and opened the door.

Fishlegs and Heather stood on the other side. It looked like Fishlegs had just been about to knock.

"Hey guys, what's up?" Hiccup asked by way of greeting. Both of the other Riders smiled broadly when they saw him up and about.

"We were just coming over to see how you were doing." Fishlegs replied. "How's your head? Are you nauseous? Maybe seeing double?"

"No, I think I'm okay."

Heather giggled. "Maybe your skull is made of stone."

Hiccup snorted, rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

"How's Harrow?" Fishlegs asked next. "He isn't up yet, is he?"

"No, he's still out of it. Goethi must have given him some really strong stuff." Hiccup replied. He stepped aside, motioned for them to come inside. Toothless huffed in annoyance. He realized that the flight was going to be delayed. He went to go lay down to wait out the inevitable conversation.

"You heard the Snotlout caught the bounty hunter that was trying to get away?" Heather asked.

Hiccup nodded. "Yeah. Surprised the Hel out of me when I heard it."

"Why, because he managed to be competent despite having drunk his weight in mead?" Fishlegs quipped.

"Well, now that you mention that, yes."

"He's your cousin, Hiccup." Heather reminded him gently. "He was shook up last night. He won't show it, but he was worried."

"I'll take that under advisement." Hiccup drawled. Then he asked, "Where is Snotlout right now, anyway? And for that matter, where are the twins and Astrid?"

"Snotlout and the twins are out on patrol." Fishlegs started to explain. "They were going to beg off, saying they were up late last night with all the partying, and then with the, uh… _excitement_ of you nearly being kidnapped."

"But Astrid convinced them that they were better off sticking to the rotation." Heather finished for him. "Nevermind that they weren't _supposed_ to be on patrol duty today."

"I was." Hiccup said with a lopsided grin. "And she knew it."

"Yeah, that's Astrid for you." Fishlegs opined, sharing a knowing look with Heather.

"I should probably go find her." Hiccup said, sliding a glance towards his dragon. "We're due a morning flight."

At the mention of flying, Toothless got up and warbled at the three Riders.

"Almost time, bud, I promise." Hiccup assured him, smiling, then turned and addressed his friends. "Can I ask you guys a favor?"

"Sure." Fishlegs answered. "What do you need?"

"I need someone to keep an eye on Harrow." Hiccup replied, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "My dad wants someone to be around when he finally wakes up. What do you say?"

Fishlegs and Heather shared a glance. Hiccup had noticed they were doing that a lot lately. In fact, they were spending a good deal of time together, even when they weren't attending to Dragon Academy or Rider duties. It was rare to see one without the other. He has happy for the both of them. They made a good, if unlikely, partnership.

"We'd be happy to help out." Heather told Hiccup. "Now, go and find Astrid. Get that morning flight in."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Hiccup replied, opening the door again. Toothless happily bounded outside. "Thanks again, I owe you two!"

Fishlegs and Heather watched him run down the slope toward the village. Hiccup had become surprisingly graceful on his prosthetic. Well, at least on familiar territory. He still tripped over nothing when on unfamiliar terrain. Heather shut the door and turned to face Fishlegs.

"What shall we do now?"

Fishlegs shrugged. "I don't know. What do you want to do?"

Heather walked over to him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "How about a quick game of Maces and Talons?"

Giddy, Fishlegs grinned. He knew that there was no quick games with her. Heather had a razor sharp tactical mind. "Best two out of three?"

"Three out of five." Heather returned, her smile bright. She loved matching wits with him. The more times, the better, in her opinion.

Stoick marched through the village. Berkians paused in their efforts to return the village to normal, watched him pass and noted the stormy expression on his face. They had all heard through the village grapevine that bounty hunters had attempted to abduct his son and heir during the height of the anniversary celebrations the previous night.

They had also heard that of the two perpetrators, one had died by the Hofferson girl's hand and the other had fled. Spitelout Jorgenson's boy and his dragon had caught the filthy mongrel trying to sneak down to the harbor.

That unfortunate soul had been dragged to the place that used to be the old kill ring, what now served Berk as the Dragon Academy. There the old cells used to hold wild dragons prisoner for dragon fighting training were being used for Viking prisoners. The surviving bounty hunter had been locked up there. A contingent of Hooligan warriors stood guard.

As Stoick approached the Academy, Spitelout stood up from the stool he had been sitting on. Three other grim-faced warriors stood nearby. They silently watched as their general met with their chief.

"Chief, good morning." Spitelout greeted.

Stoick nodded, impassive.

"We took every precaution last night." Spitelout reported. "He's shackled in the farthest cell, searched him for hidden weapons. I put Cordy on guard outside the cell door."

"Good. Has he said anything?"

Spitelout shook his head. "Nothing. Even when we gave him a little roughing up."

The other warriors snickered maliciously.

Stoick rolled his shoulders. "Alright, then. I'll have a go at him."

"Are you going to wait for Gobber?" Spitelout wanted to know. He might be the commander of the Berk Guard, but Gobber had always served as Stoick's sounding board and confidante. Stoick regarded him with a hard look. "No. This is between me and the man who tried to steal my son away from me."

Spitelout relented, stepped away from his chief. He knew that the prisoner was going to have a hard time of it. Stoick followed him to the heavy stable door that led inside. Spitelout pushed it open and gestured for Stoick to proceed.

There was a short hallway on the other side. To the left and right of the hall reinforced wooden doors stood every seven feet. Torches lined the hallway set into sconces on the bare wall between them, casting flickering yellow light.

Stoick found Cordwood Jerriksson sitting on a old stable stool at the end of the hall. The warrior had his sword over his lap and was puffing thoughtfully on a horn pipe. He looked up when he heard Stoick's heavy footsteps. Then he stood up to give his chief the respect due his station, deftly catching his sword by the grip as it slid off.

"Chief." Cordy nodded solemnly.

Stoick gave him a brief smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Good to see you, Cordwood. You did well last night."

Cordy stood up a little straighter. "Thanks, chief. Just wanted do you proud."

"That you did." Stoick assured him. "But, I'd like to have a word with the prisoner now."

"Sure thing, chief." Cordy produced the heavy iron key that operated all the cell doors. "I'll unlock the door. You just shout when you're through, and I'll open it up again."

"Thank you."

It was dimly lit and hazy inside the cell. A single candle burned over the door. The prisoner sat upon a hard stone sleeping shelf cut into the wall opposite the door. His left ankle had a thick iron shackle around it, fastened by a short iron chain to another iron ring bolted to the stone wall under the shelf. Nearby, a battered bucket served as a chamber pot. Stoick ignored the rank smell that rose from it.

The prisoner himself was of typically sturdy Viking stock. He had a shaven head and sported no beard. His face was ugly and rawbone. The bruises that marked him did not improve things. His nose had been broken in the struggle to capture him the previous night, and a mask of dried blood outlined his lips and chin. He had been stripped of much of his clothing. He was left with his pants for modesty. His hands had been shackled together and they rested in his lap. He regarded Stoick with cold blue eyes and an gaze as expressive as the bare stone walls of his cell.

Stoick studied this man for awhile in silence, glowering. His usually powerful force of presence did nothing to crack the man's impassive facade. He was disappointed.

"Who are you?"

"What does that matter?" the man asked in return, tonelessly.

"You clearly know who I am."

"Aye, you're Stoick the Vast." Came the listless response.

Stoick realized that it was pointless to ask personal questions of this man. He decided to try another tack, though he could already hazard a guess as to the answer. "Why did you come after my son?"

"It's our… _my_ job." The man replied. For a moment, some emotion flickered over his face. "Bounty hunters track down people with bounties on their heads."

Stoick inclined his head with a deep breath. That had been his suspicion. He felt a frisson of anger. Hiccup had a bounty on his head, and he didn't tell his _father_? He set that thought aside. There would be a time to broach that subject soon.

The bounty hunter grinned suddenly, his teeth equally as bloody as his face. "How's your boy, Stoick? I do _hope_ that he woke up eventually. Orley smacked him pretty hard over the back of the head. That was one thing my dearly departed brother was never good at, judging his strength."

Stoick didn't take the poorly laid bait. "My son is fine, not that it is any concern of yours. And, you'll be happy to know that you'll be joining your brother in Hel soon. In a day's time, in fact."

The grin faded as suddenly as it had appeared. "Of course I am. I hold no illusions."

"Was it worth it? The bounty?"

"A thousand gold coins for your boy, Stoick. Alive and unharmed." the bounty hunter told him in a dull monotone. "A hundred chief's fortunes for one insignificant runt of a boy. It was going to be our last job. We were going to retire."

This time the words dug hard at Stoick, and he glowered hard enough to kill. "So sorry to hear that things didn't go as planned. Who put the bounty on my son's head?"

The bounty hunter sighed, sounding exhausted in body and soul. "From what I've heard your son has made some powerful enemies. Could be any one of them."

"Like Viggo Grimborn?"

The man held his tongue and just stared back insolently.

"You don't gain anything by holding back." Stoick told him sternly.

The bounty hunter shrugged. "I gain just as much by telling you. You'll execute me anyway, right?"

"The law is the law." Stock intoned gravely. "And you have transgressed."

"Well, if that's the case, maybe I shouldn't warn you about the wolf in your midst, eh?"

This was unexpected. Stoick peered at the condemned man with narrowed eyes, scowling.

"What are you on about?"

The bounty hunter leaned forward with a conspiratorial gleam in his icy eyes. "That lad, the one who held my brother and I long enough for your gods-damned shield maiden to come to the rescue. Do you know him well? Do you trust him?"

"Harrow?" Stoick replied, wary. "He's a shipwreck survivor. He was looking for someplace else to settle when his ship went down at sea. Some of our fishermen saved him and brought him here."

"Oh, _really_?"

Stoick growled. "What of it?"

"Well, Stoick, would it interest you to know that this shipwreck survivor of yours is not who he says he is? That you accepted a snake into your house?"

"I don't put much stock in the ramblings of a condemned criminal, as a general rule." Stoick replied offhandedly. "Why should I believe a word you say? It's yours versus his, and I'm liable to believe him more than you."

The bounty hunter lifted his shackled hands in a gesture of impotent appeal. "You have no reason to, and I know I wouldn't if I were in your boots. But that Thor-blasted whelp, that cocky son of a whore has been a thorn in my side for the last three years, and if I can make his life miserable, I will!"

"Make some sense, you filthy coin hound!" Stoick thundered, now getting frustrated.

The bounty hunter laughed.

"Or you'll what? I'm a dead man, so you don't scare me with your threats." He sat back against the rough stone wall and smiled, cold and smug. "Death bites only once."

When Stoick kept his smoldering gaze fixed on him, he spread his shackled hands as far as they could go.

"Isn't it _obvious_? No? Here, I'll spell it out for you: my brother and I weren't the only bounty hunters on your precious island, Stoick. Harrow is here, too, and he's after the same thing as we were. Now he doesn't have any competition. He _always_ hated competition."

Stoick thought that the whole notion was preposterous.

"You're full of yakshit. Harrow's been here on Berk for the last four days. Why would he wait so long to act, if he was what you say he is? I've never known bounty hunters to be patient."

"I don't claim to have all the answers." The bounty hunter droned. "Maybe he saw no good openings to do a quick snatch and run? Or maybe the reason is the same as saving your son? Lulling you and your stupid tribe into a false sense of security, eh? Pulling the wool over your eyes? Maybe then he'll strike when you least expect."

"What is this, petty revenge? Are you so upset that Harrow ruined your plan, that you're actually trying to convince me to turn on him?" Stoick asked, shaking his head gently in bemusement. How gullible did this bastard think he was?

"No, this is a _warning_." the bounty hunter announced flatly, staring steadily into Stoick's eyes. "Like I said, you may not believe me, but I tell you now: sometime soon Harrow is going to disappear from Berk. And he will leave a trail of chaos behind him, count on that. When he does, he will take your son." He laughed, a humorless and chilling sound. The laugh of the damned. "He's the Hel's Hound. He _always_ gets his mark."

The earnest nature of the statement was disturbing. Stoick turned his back on the shackled man, his mind unsettled and racing. He knocked once, hard, on the cell door. "We're done here."

The bounty hunter watched the Hooligan chief leave dispassionately.

"See you in Hel, Stoick." he said.


	16. A Matter of Trust

**Greetings, fellow writers and readers! I'm back! First, and foremost, allow me to apologize for the long absence and unintended hiatus. Life tends to get in the way sometimes, but I have not forgotten this story. Second of all, thanks to all who have read this far, reviewed, favorited, or simply followed. I am much gratified by your interest in this little tale i am attempting to weave. I have still so much to do with it. I wouldn't dream of letting it languish unfinished, so fear not. Now that I'm able to devote time once again to writing, expect mostly regular updates to the story. Any feedback or comments are welcome. So, without any further fuss, back to the ongoing saga!**

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Hiccup and Toothless made their way through the village. Berkians were out clearing away the decorations and refuse from the celebration the night before. As he passed, they greeted him, asked him how he was feeling. It touched him to see genuine concern for his well-being from these people. It wasn't so long ago that they would not have given him the time of day.

But, that was firmly in the past. Now, they looked to him with pride as he strode by. They gave him his due as heir to the chieftainship, the women curtsying or the men granting him the little nod that usually was given to his father. It always amazed him, the changes big and small. He had never thought the day would come.

Toothless gamboled along beside him, tongue lolling out of his jaws, relishing the warm sun and the brisk breeze on his scales. He would bound ahead, look back at Hiccup impatiently, then bound ahead again when he caught him up.

The young village children laughed in delight to see the Night Fury and raced along behind him. Hiccup smiled to see the next generation so fearless around the most feared of dragon-kind.

Toothless enjoyed the playful attention, nuzzling the little boys and girls, lapping them and delighting in their high pitched sounds of disgust. Hiccup winced when the mothers of said children rushed to grab their children away, decrying the liberal amounts of sticky dragon saliva that now coated their clothes and hair.

He knew better than anyone that it didn't wash out.

As the two of them passed the butcher's shop, Agnarr Hofferson stepped out of the front door, his shop apron splattered with old gore. "Good morning, Hiccup! I had hoped to catch sight of you this morning."

"Sir." Hiccup replied, carefully schooling his expression. He always felt more self-conscious than usual around Astrid's father. "I hope the day finds you well."

The man was a warrior legend of Berk, his prowess was only eclipsed by his brother, Finn. And, of course, his own father, Stoick. He was a tall, solidly built man of over forty winters with fair hair and clear blue eyes. When he wasn't training with axe and shield, he was working in the butchershop processing chicken, yak, and mutton. It seemed a tad incongruous that the great Agnarr Hofferson, a warrior of no small renown, also felt the need to stoop to such an ignominious trade.

But, even a great warrior had to do something to provide for his family. Especially now, with the Dragon Peace.

Agnarr smiled and clapped Hiccup on the shoulder with one large calloused hand. He smiled warmly down upon the young man before him.

"Fine, fit as a fiddle! I was going to ask how you were doing, actually. My daughter came home late last night, so Elva and I didn't bother to ask how things were after the Chief had called up the Guard. She didn't seem distraught, but I know how she likes to present a strong facade for us."

Hiccup smiled a trifle lopsidedly. "Yeah, that's definitely Astrid. But, as you can see, I'm alright. Just had a bit of a bump on the noggin. Nothing a little sleep couldn't make better."

"Good!" Agnarr thundered. "I'll tell Elva that you seemed right as rain. Maybe she'll be over later with some of her honey cakes."

"I'd like that, sir. Thank you."

"And what of the stranger?"

"You mean Harrow?" Hiccup asked, puzzled.

"Is that his name? I confess, I haven't laid eyes on him myself." Agnarr said. "But, I was talking with Spitelout. The general feeling I get from amongst the townsfolk is that he's a good sort."

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow, even more surprised. "Really? But I didn't think anyone really _knew_ him. He's only been here such a short time."

"Aye, that may be true, but Mulch and Bucket seem fond of him." Agnarr told him. "And, then, there is Walnut and Hulda Thorston. I guess their girl is bit sweet on the lad, the gods help him and have pity. Anything that brings a smile to her eye, _without_ exploding or bursting into flames, is a blessing from the gods in their eyes."

Which wasn't an exaggeration in the least.

"Well, actually, I'd feel the same way." Hiccup opined. "If I was being honest."

"Anyway, I've should get back to work." Agnarr observed, slapping Hiccup on the back. "I'll let you get back to what you were doing. Just wanted a bit of news for the missus."

Hiccup only stumbled a touch. He was getting better at anticipating when someone was going to do that. "Uh, actually... uh, before you do, could you tell me where I could find Astrid this morning?"

Looking back at him, Agnarr paused at the threshold of his shop with his brow furrowed in thought. "Well, if I remember correctly, she said she was going to go and check in on Stormfly. So, I'd look in the Academy ring, if I were you."

"Thank you, sir." Hiccup replied.

Then he turned to Toothless, who had exercised amazing patience during the conversation. The Night Fury knew that to interrupt or to misbehave before this particular Viking would only delay his morning flight even more.

"Come on, bud. The sooner we find Astrid and Stormfly, the sooner we can get off the ground!"

He needn't tell Toothless twice. The Night Fury bounded forwards down the street again. He already knew the way.

The Dragon Academy gates were open as always as Hiccup followed Toothless down the stone ramp. Toothless stopped briefly at the threshold, turned back to bark at Hiccup, then scurried inside.

"There you are, Toothless! You certainly look better this morning." As Hiccup gained the threshold, he heard Astrid's gentle greeting to the Night Fury.

Stormfly chirped a cheery salutation of her own where she crouched on the Academy floor. Hiccup saw that the Nadder in question was just in the middle of having her scales groomed.

Astrid had a stiff-bristled brush in one hand while she scratched Toothless under the chin with the other. As always, the mere sight of her gave him pause. Seeing her set his heart to beating faster, made his breath hitch, and any number of other wonderful things.

"Do you happen to know where Hiccup is, Toothless?" Astrid was asking the Night Fury. Her lips curled into a smile. Hiccup knew there was no way she didn't know he was standing there at the gate, gawking. She was always so much better at being aware of her surroundings. It went with her shieldmaiden training.

Toothless looked back at Hiccup and barked at him again. The meaning was clear "hey, hurry up and get over here!"

"Ah, there he is." Astrid said with a chuckle. "I knew he couldn't be too far away."

"He ran ahead of me the whole way from your father's shop." Hiccup explained, unable to hide his own merry grin. "He'd have dragged me if he could."

"I don't doubt it for a moment." Astrid dryly muttered, watching as Toothless capered about. Stormfly watched the Night Fury intently. She looked like she wanted to get up and join him, but deigned to have the grooming done first. She turned her beak and started to pick at Astrid's hair.

Laughing, Astrid gently swatted her away and went back to running the brush over the Nadder's flank. "Why were you at my father's shop?"

"Uh, well… I was just walking by, minding my own business, when he popped his head out and struck up a conversation." Hiccup told her, scratching the back of his head. He winced as his fingers grazed the bump from last night.

"What's wrong? Your head still hurt?" Astrid asked, abandoning the grooming again. Of course she saw him wince. She set the brush on the ground and walked over to him, concern etching itself on her face. She reached up to feel for herself.

Hiccup tried to shrug it away. "Ah, it's nothing… just tender where I got hit."

"Then don't touch it."

"I'll try not to."

Astrid nodded, picked the brush back up. Stormfly squawked at her impatiently. Astrid stroked her beak and cooed soothing words. When the Nadder had calmed, she prompted him. "So? You stopped to talk with my father?"

"Oh, uh… yeah. He asked about my health. Guess your mother was wondering, wanted to know."

Astrid hummed happily to herself. "Anything else?"

"Well, he clued me in that Harrow is apparently better known in the village than I had thought."

An expression of disappointment shadowed Astrid's face for a moment, briefly. Her smile dimmed. "Oh."

Then she composed herself and went on. "Is that really a big surprise?"

Hiccup noticed the brief lapse. He frowned, weighing whether he should broach the subject. Instead, he answered her question. "It was to me, at least. I didn't know how many other people were aware he was here on the island."

"It's a small island, literally, Hiccup. And a small village. Gossip gets around."

"Yeah, true."

Eyes fixed on her task, Astrid moved on to combing the quills on Stormfly's tail. "How is Harrow, anyway? Did he wake up yet?"

Hiccup shook his head, watching her carefully. "No. Still sleeping, last I saw him. No fever, though. That's got to be a good sign."

"Yeah."

Toothless ambled over and rammed his head against Hiccup's left hip. He rumbled in his throat insistently. Hiccup chuckled, rested a hand on the big blunt head of his dragon-brother.

"Almost done? You-know-who wants to take his morning flight. We could go together, if you wanted."

"Sure." Astrid replied quietly. "Just let me finish and saddle up."

Hiccup watched her as she put away the grooming tools. He couldn't place exactly what it was, but he felt like he had missed something. Perhaps something in the spaces between her words. For the life of him, he didn't know what it might be.

A moment later, Astrid had Stormfly saddled. She hopped up on the Nadder's back. "Ready to go?"

Hiccup climbed aboard Toothless, who warbled his joy now that they were finally getting somewhere. "Yep. Want to do laps around the island?"

"Sure."

Toothless and Stormfly took off. They climbed up and banked toward the coast. The sky was partly cloudy but the sun was bright. The surface of the sea danced with sparkles like a hundred jewels. A flock of seagulls cried and wheeled by the harbor.

This was one of things that made Hiccup proud to be a Dragon Rider. The sense of absolute freedom. The sight of the world spread out before him from what he imagined was a god's eye view. The fact that Astrid was right there beside him, sharing it all, made it all the better.

Hunched over the saddle to diminish air drag, Hiccup turned to catch a glimpse of the beauty riding at Toothless's right wingtip. Astrid had a pensive expression on her face despite being airborne. He frowned; that wouldn't do at all.

Luckily, he knew exactly what would snap her out of her sudden mood.

"C'mon, Toothless, ready to have some fun?" Hiccup asked, giving his dragon-brother a pat on the head.

Toothless rumbled joyously and narrowed his eyes as his rider guided him in closer to Astrid and Stormfly.

Astrid noticed the change in their flight path and turned to watch as Hiccup coaxed Toothless into flying upside down and over her head. The pensive look on her beautiful face turned to one of cautious curiosity. "Hiccup…?"

Hiccup made no reply except to reach down and gently tap her on the crown of her head with the first two fingers of his right hand.

"Tag, you're it!" He chorused happily, grinning madly. "Now you gotta catch me!"

Astrid rolled her eyes. "Hiccup, I know how tag works."

"Oh yeah, well, then come on and show me, then!" He and Toothless flew a loop around Astrid and her dragon and then shot off.

Astrid blinked, surprised. Hiccup had Toothless bank around after a minute with no pursuit, came back at speed and as he passed her, tapped her on the shoulder.

"Now, you're doubly it!" He informed her, pleased with himself. "For someone who knows how this game works, you aren't doing so hot."

"Hiccup…" Astrid started, slightly annoyed.

"Now, don't tell me you're going easy on me." Hiccup interjected. "I mean, how are people going to react when they find out that I beat you at a simple game like tag?"

"Beat _me_? You?" Astrid echoed, dubious. A smirk tugged at her lips.

"Yep, that's right." Hiccup agreed, eyes dancing merrily. "Right now it's two to zip, in case you were wondering. You going to let me get away with the bragging rights?"

Despite herself, Astrid felt the familiar competitive urge surge up from within her. "Like Hel I am! Look out, here I come, dragon-boy!"

She lunged with one hand out to tag him and Toothless neatly juked out of the way with a gulping sound that passed as dragon laughter. Hiccup took the moment to make a funny face at her, sticking out his tongue and pulling an eyelid down with one finger. "Missed me! Ha!"

"I'll get you yet, Hiccup!" Astrid called to him as he and Toothless flew off. She leaned forward in her saddle. "Come on, Stormfly, let's go catch those guys!"

Her nadder trilled in enthusiasm and put on a burst of speed.

What followed was a rollicking aerial chase along the gently heaving surface of the sea and through the clouds above and weaving in and out between the sea stacks in the vicinity of Berk. They even buzzed the masts of some of the fishing fleet as they worked their way back home. They both waved at the sailors hard at work on their ships, smiling and calling warmly. The sailors were amused at their antics, waving back and calling encouragement to her.

The nightfury and his rider kept a judicious lead, just far enough not to get caught easily but not too far ahead as to prove too hard to catch. Astrid knew just as well as Hiccup did that Toothless could outrun Stormfly, given a chance. She knew that he was making things more sporting by not allowing his dragon to really use his speed. That was sweet of him.

At one point, she lost sight of them as they dove into a thick bank of clouds high in the sky. She had Stormfly take her right in after them and found herself all alone on the other side, empty blue sky all around as far as she could see. Stormfly came to a hover, cocking her head this way and that, trilling curiously.

"Where do you suppose they went, girl?" Astrid asked her dragon, looking around as well. A black and tan blur shot by on their left, the wind of their passing whipping her braid and stirring the quills on her Nadder's tail. Astrid gasped as she realized he had just tagged her again.

Hiccup whooped and laughed as he looked over his shoulder and shouted. "Still waiting, Milady! Three to none!"

"Hiccup Haddock, get back here!" Astrid hollered after him, laughing. To Stormfly, she said, "Alright, girl, time to get our game face on. You can have all the chicken you want if you catch Toothless. How about that?"

Stormfly growled and took off like an arrow from a bow. Astrid laughed, making sure to hold onto her saddle grips.

Hiccup threw a look over his shoulder and was startled to see Stormfly approaching at speed, body streamlined and wings beating furiously. Astrid was nearly prone along her dragon's back, a fiercely determined set to her jaw and victory glinting in her eyes.

"Punch it, Toothless!" He exclaimed.

Toothless needed no further encouragement and began a dive. Stormfly and Astrid gained on them as they shot down through the air toward the top of a sea stack. Toothless spilled air from under his wings and landed on the crown of the stack. Almost right behind them came Stormfly. Hiccup dismounted and barely managed three running steps before Astrid ran and tackled him around the legs. The two dragons watched as the two Viking teens went down in a laughing tumble of arms and legs that ended up with Hiccup flat on his back with Astrid pinning him down. Stormfly looked to Toothless, who merely shrugged and laid down to watch.

Panting, Hiccup looked up at her and said, "Guess... I'm... it."

Looking down at him, just as breathless, she replied, smiling triumphantly. "Yep… looks… like it."

She sat back on her haunches and allowed him to push himself into a sitting position. He winced, put a hand to the back of his head.

"Ouch…"

"Did you hurt your head again?" Astrid asked, worried.

Hiccup waved her off. "A little bit. It's nothing."

"Well, that's what you get for getting me started." Astrid told him, mock seriously. "Besides, what was that all about, any way?"

"You seemed like you were in a glum mood. So, I wanted to cheer you up." Hiccup replied, like it was the most obvious thing, "And judging by that smile on your face, mission accomplished."

Astrid looked at him carefully. "What mood?"

"I like to think I know you pretty well. That was the look of Astrid in deep thought. So, copper for your thoughts?"

Astrid gazed at him for a brief moment before standing up and dusting herself off. She walked over to the edge of the sea stack's crown. Hiccup, puzzled by her behavior, got up and followed. "Astrid? Is there something wrong?"

"No, Hiccup, everything is fine." Astrid replied softly, looking out at the sea as it stretched to meet the sky at the horizon. "For now, that is. That is what scares me. Everything is fine, but it almost wasn't. It could have easily been different. You almost got taken away from us." She turned to look him in the eye. "From me."

Astrid, scared? He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Hiccup met her gaze. "This is about what happened the other night."

"Yes."

Hiccup took her hands in his own. "Astrid, you don't need to worry. I'm still here. Nothing is going to take me from you, or anyone."

Astrid gripped his hands more tightly as she sighed. "I know you say that, and I can't tell you how much I fervently hope that is true, but we can't tell the future. Anything could happen. Who's to say there isn't more bounty hunters out there, waiting to strike?"

Hiccup frowned. "Of course we know there is. Viggo's still got that stupid bounty on my head."

"That's what I'm talking about, Hiccup!" Astrid said. "What are we going to do about that? About _him_?"

Hiccup shrugged, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "We'll deal with him soon enough."

Astrid stepped closer to rest her forehead on his chest. "I hope so. I don't want him hanging over our heads."

"Me neither." Hiccup agreed. "I just thank the gods that things worked out the way they did. Harrow saved me, then you saved him. Snotlout - Snotlout! - of all people caught the other bounty hunter as he tried to get away."

"Yeah, I know, right?" Astrid murmured. "He's just full of surprises."

"Yeah."

The couple stood standing on the edge of the sea stack enjoying the presence of each other for a moment or two. Then, Hiccup motioned for them to sit, to which Astrid acquiesced. She leaned against him and sighed in contentment, then looked to see what the other two occupants of the sea stack were up to. Behind them, Stormfly was attempting to groom a reluctant Toothless, who was doing his best to put up with the attention.

Hiccup laughed. "Looking good, bud."

Astrid smiled at their dragons' antics, but said nothing. She was thoughtful again, but not in a way that made Hiccup concerned. "When will Stoick execute the bounty hunter? Did he say anything to you?"

"Ah, well… you know how much of a stickler he is with tradition and protocol…" Hiccup sighed, wincing. He didn't like to contemplate the fact that very shortly someone would have to chop off the unfortunate man's head. And, in the center of the village, no less.

"Probably tonight, or tomorrow night at the latest. My dad was going to, uh… _talk_ with him this morning."

Astrid's eyebrows rose as she perceived the hidden meaning. "Oh. Right. _Talk_."

Hiccup nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yep."

"Well, he deserves all that he gets, if you ask me."

"Maybe." Hiccup mused, leaning back to rest on his hands. "Viggo is really to blame, though."

"The law is the law, doesn't matter if Viggo promised them gold or not. He made his decision. Now he has to deal with the consequences." Astrid pointed out. "Bounty hunters are scum, anyway. Profiting off other people's lives and misery."

Hiccup nodded. He understood her point of view. He envied her ability to see things so clearly. For himself, he knew that rarely things were so simple.

"Anyway, we should be headed back soon." Astrid said with a sigh. She turned to face him as she stood. "Much as I'd rather stay out here all day with you and our dragons, I need to get some training in and your father probably has lessons for you to endure."

"Do we have to?" Hiccup whined, child-like. "For the love of the gods, can't a guy who just survived yet _another_ kidnapping attempt get a little break now and again?"

Astrid had to laugh. She helped him up and dusted him off. "We had our break by coming out here, I think."

"Yeah, guess you're right." Hiccup reluctantly agreed. He searched her face momentarily. "Feeling better?"

"Maybe." Astrid replied as they walked over to where their dragons lay. "But, you have to be more careful as long as we're dealing with the bounty thing still."

Swinging up into Toothless' saddle, Hiccup favored her with his lopsided grin. "Don't worry, I'll be beyond careful. Trust me!"


	17. The Plot Thickens, Part 1

**Hello, fellow writers and readers! I'm back with another installment, as I said I would be. We're starting to get into some of the fun bits of the story with this subsection. Things will certainly get interesting from here on out. Let me know what you think, if you would be so kind. Enjoy the chapter!**

 **-StratX88**

* * *

Stoick walked out of the the old dragon prison silently, his face a mask of distant thought. Spitelout stood up as his chief approached.

"So, how'd it go?"

'Hmm?" Stoick started as if just realizing Spitelout had spoken. He blinked, focused on his brother in law. "What?"

"Stoick, did you get any information?" Spitelout repeated, frowning. A few steps away, the warriors on guard exchanged worried looks. They had not seen Stoick so preoccupied in a while. Usually the chief was more in the present.

Stoick seemed to remember himself then. His brows furrowed. "Aye, that I did. Unfortunately, now I have more questions than answers."

"Should we put off the execution, then?"

"No," Stoick said, shaking his head. He turned and started for the village. "Let's get things set-up for tonight."

"But, aren't you going to interrogate him more?" Spitelout wondered. "You just said you have more questions."

"Oh, aye, that I do." Stoick replied, over his shoulder. He didn't break his determined stride. "Only I think I will find the answers elsewhere. Make ready for an execution. The bounty hunter dies at dusk, tonight."

Spitelout shared a look with the other men. Then, he shrugged. "Aye, Chief. As you will."

Stoick trudged on. As he passed into the village, people stopped and greeted him. He absently returned the greetings in kind, but in his head he replayed the bounty hunter's words over and over.

At first, he thought the man petty, grasping at straws. After all, the man's claims were preposterous. Harrow, out to do Hiccup harm? Harrow, some great and terrible bounty hunter? He had done exactly the opposite. He had saved his son! The lad was a hero!

Stoick frowned. Harrow, the Hel's Hound! The very notion was yakshit. He was exactly as he seemed, just an unfortunate young shipwreck survivor. Who just so happened to be incredibly brave and selfless, disregarding his own wellbeing for the sake of others. Those traits should make Stoick proud to know the lad. Proud to have him on the island.

So, why was there now a doubt budding in his mind? Was it simply the words of the condemned criminal that stirred this thought? Or, was there something unusual in the behavior of their guest? Could it be then Harrow's heroism was not for all the reasons Stoick assumed?

Suddenly, the steady cadence of a hammer upon an anvil broke the Chief's troubled train of thought. He looked round and saw that his path had brought him absently to Gobber's smithy. His battle-brother was busily working on the ruined blade of a plow.

Stoick had always valued the blacksmith's advice. He hoped his oldest friend could help him make sense of this sudden uncertainty.

"Gobber!" Stoick called, raising a hand in greeting. "Do you have a moment?"

Gobber paused in his hammering to spare the Chief a glance, hammer rising and falling rhythmically. Then, he stepped aside from his work, and grabbed a rag to wipe his face. "Well, I suppose I could take a break. Nothing more boring than working on farming equipment! Give me a notched axe or dented breastplate any day! What's on yer mind, Stoick?"

"I had a word with the bastard who tried to make off with Hiccup last night." Stoick replied.

Gobber quirked a bushy eyebrow. "And?"

"He was resigned to his fate."

Gobber snorted. "That's no surprise."

"Aye." Stoick agreed. "But then he gave me a warning."

"Oh, a warning, eh? _He_ gave _you_ a warning?" Gobber rolled his eyes, chuckling, turned back to the plow blade on the anvil. He grabbed his forge tongs and stuck the blade back into the hottest part of the furnace where the coals glowed fiercely. "Pure bluster and fluff! He knows he is done for. I'd not put much thought into anything he says." He turned back to face Stoick. "What did he say, anyway?"

"He told me to beware Harrow, that he is some sort of dangerous bounty hunter. That he is after Hiccup, too."

Gobber stared for a beat, blank-faced. His mustache twitched errantly. "Harrow?"

"Yes."

"Some sort of dangerous bounty hunter?"

"Aye."

Suddenly Gobber burst out laughing, leaning on his anvil for support as mirth shook him. Stoick watched, not quite appreciating his battle-brother's timing and levity. "Gobber, this is serious!"

"Oh, sorry, Chief!" the blacksmith gasped, wiping a tear from his eye with a thick, sooty finger. "But I have not heard such a good joke in a while."

Growling, Stoick fixed him with a glare.

Gobber straightened up and cleared his throat. "Why in Midgard would you believe a word of what this man is saying?"

Stoick sighed. "I don't know."

"He's just trying to get into that thick skull of yours, Stoick. Don't let him." Gobber went on, pulling the now red-hot plow blade out of the furnace.

"How much do we really know about this boy, Gobber?"

"We know that Mulch and Bucket plucked him from the sea. We know that he comes from an island to the far north called Discord." Gobber listed, punctuating each statement with a blow of his hammer. He paused, hammer raised as he tried to come up with another fact. "Uh… er, well, I guess that is the long and short of it."

"Not much to go on." Stoick remarked evenly.

"Aye, I suppose now that you mention it, we really don't know anything… well, _substantial_ about him." Gobber admitted with a uneasy grin.

"Well, I intend to get some answers." Stoick said solemnly. He made to leave the smithy.

Gobber stepped forward quickly and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Oi, Stoick, don't be so hasty! The lad is not even awake from Goethi's treatment, yet. Let's not jump to conclusions."

Stoick relented. His body seemed to deflate as he released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Tension eased from his body as he turned around to clap a hand on Gobber's shoulder, mirroring him. "I'm not jumping, Gobber. But I do need to know if he is going to stay on this island and in _this_ village."

"I know you feeling a wee mite twitchy, brother." Gobber remarked dryly, "And I cannot blame you. But do not go looking for trouble where there may not be any. Give the lad the benefit of the doubt. Aye?"

Stoick paused, considering. Then he gave his battle-brother a wan smile. "Aye."

"Good." Gobber said, turning back to his work. "Now, as much as I would rather stand around jawing up a storm with you all day, I've got to get this bit of work out of the way."

"I'll leave you to it, then." Stoick replied. "I should get back to business, myself. Some work should help to clear my mind. Have you seen Hiccup about this morning?"

Gobber nodded, plunging the plow blade back into the forge. "Oh, aye, I saw he and that dragon of his headed for the Academy an hour ago, if I'm not much mistaken."

 **iIi**

From the moment Harrow's world faded out on the floor of Haddock Hall, he found himself in a series of dreamscapes that melted and flowed one into the next with frightening rapidity. He found himself kneeling in the basement of the Tipsy Scauldron, beaten and bloodied, hands bound behind his back. A shadow fell over his bowed form and he slowly looked up through blood and tears at the unmistakable form of his business partner. "Ar… Ardyn…?"

The old barkeep was not the usual jolly soul Harrow remembered. His face was contorted, scowling deeply, dark eyes flashing murder and hatred as they looked down upon the young man before him. A sword was held in Ardyn's clenched, shaking right fist. The naked iron blade shone in the flickering lantern light. With his other hand, he struck a blow across Harrow's face.

"You bastard! YOU GODS-DAMNED BASTARD!" Ardyn shouted, voice tight with fury and pain. "You swore an oath to me, you sack of YAKSHIT! You… SWORE!"

Another backhanded blow to the face. Harrow reeled, but could not fall over. He cried out in pain and surprise.

Ardyn grabbed him by the throat and hauled him closer. "You swore you would protect Signy! But, because of you, they took her… THEY TOOK HER!"

Harrow shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut so he didn't have to meet the older man's accusing gaze. "NO! I tried… I did my best…!"

"You are worthless! A liar, a fraud, and a coward!" Ardyn declared, his eyes bugging from his head in his fervor and outrage. Spittle flew from his lips as he raved. "My Signy is DEAD because of YOU! It's all… your… FAULT!"

And then Ardyn ran him through.

On the shock of the blade passing through his vitals, the dreamscape swam and ran like wax left out too long in the sun.

Gone was the nightmare version of the Scauldron and in its place Harrow now found himself running down a long, dark hallway. At the far end was an open door, through which Harrow could see Signy being forced down onto her knees before Ryker. She was crying, screaming, struggling to free herself from the grip of her captors.

Ryker, laughing cruelly, unsheathed one of his jagged swords with a flourish and lifted the blade up over her head in both hands.

"Signy!" Harrow cried, breaking into a frantic head-long sprint down the hall. "Signy, hold on! I'm coming!"

Signy didn't seem to hear him, still screaming and crying out for mercy that Harrow knew wasn't coming.

Ryker, though, heard Harrow's approach. He looked out through the door as Harrow came barreling onwards with a cold, mocking leer. "Well, look what we have here! It's the would-be hero, just a moment… too… LATE!"

"NO!" Harrow threw himself into a diving lunge as he made it to the threshold of the door, but the door was thrown shut in his face and he slammed against it hard, crumpling on the floor in a pained daze. Stunned, he could do nothing as he heard Signy's scream cut off horribly on the other side.

 **iIi**

"SIGNY!" Harrow surged to wakefulness on a tide of horror and despair. He flailed his limbs, unable to lever himself up from where he reclined. He looked around his surroundings and could not remember where he was or what had happened.

"Get his arms!" A feminine voice cried, surprised. "He's trying to get up!"

"Oh, Thor, oh thor, oh thor!" A male voice babbled, distressed. Harrow felt one pair of strong hands grip his wrists and another his ankles. They tried as gently as they could to restrain him, but still he fought. The sudden attempt to hold him back enraged him.

"Harrow! _Stop_!" The feminine voice commanded, sharp and clear. "You're going to hurt yourself!"

"Or us!" The other voice added, straining with effort.

Harrow growled and snarled, but found he could not break their combined hold on him. Pain from his side and his hand blossomed hot and sharp and he gasped. He went still as the discomfort washed over him, forcing him into taking quick shallow breaths. He blinked his one good eye rapidly as the pain ebbed and flowed, shedding hot tears down his cheek.

Faces came into focus over him, one at his head and the other towards his feet. He recognized them after a short moment. "Fishlegs...? Heather...?"

"Yes, it's us." Heather answered, panting, looking down at him with concern from where she held his wrists in white-knuckled hands. "You were having a nightmare. But it's over now. You're safe. Okay?"

Harrow looked around. He found himself lying on a couch before the fireplace in Haddock Hall. A fire burned merrily in the grate casting pleasant warmth into the room. The muffled sounds of the village could be heard distantly. He shivered as he looked down the length of his body and found that his chest was swathed in sweat-soaked bandages.

"Now, we're going to let go." Fishlegs told him. "So no more thrashing, please?"

Harrow nodded, too pained and breathless to say anything. The two dragon riders let his limbs go and stepped around the side of the couch. Heather knelt down and placed a cool hand on his forehead. "I would ask how you're feeling, but I think that is kind of obvious."

Harrow swallowed, or tried to. His mouth was terribly dry. "Sorry…"

Noticing this, Fishlegs went and got a fired clay mug and brought it over to where Harrow lay. "Here, some water. Sip it slowly, alright?"

Harrow lifted his head and accepted the drink eagerly. He closed his eyes and groaned in appreciation at the feeling of moisture on his tongue. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Fishlegs replied, taking back the mug. He set it down on the table nearby.

"Can I… Can I sit up?" Harrow asked.

Heather shook her head. "Not yet. The stitches shouldn't be disturbed anymore than they already have been."

Harrow nodded his understanding. He looked and saw the scattered pieces of the Maces and Talons game on the table with the mug of water, the knocked over chairs, the bearskin rug askew beneath them. "Sorry if I… interrupted… anything."

Fishlegs waved him off. "Oh, that? It's okay, we weren't really playing seriously that last game."

Heather looked up and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Looked pretty serious to me. You were on the ropes, if I recall. One move away from chief-mate."

Harrow tried to smile and grimaced as the pain spiked and then waned. "Where is... everybody?"

"Well, the Chief is out making his rounds around town." Fishlegs told him, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Hiccup and Astrid are probably finishing up their morning flight about now."

"And the twins and Snotlout are on patrol duty today." Heather added as she straightened up and together with Fishlegs put the chairs back upright and smoothed out the rug.

Harrow watched them from where he lay, all the while hoping the discomfort he felt would fade. When it didn't, he asked, "Did Gothi leave... anything… for the pain?"

"Ah, I think so." Fishlegs murmured, and went over to the fireplace where a little sack had been left on a shelf. He fetched out a small clay bottle and uncorked it. He sniffed the contents and winced. "Blegh! This is definitely the pain killer stuff..."

Harrow watched him pour a little of the contents in the mug of water before popping the cork back in and setting it back in the sack. Fishlegs brought the mug back over and eased it down to Harrow's mouth. "Sorry, the flavor going to be less than pleasant if the smell is anything to go by."

Harrow took a sip and coughed. The flavor was bitter to the extreme but sure enough the pain slowly faded over the next few minutes. The only downside was that Harrow started feeling like he was going to retch the medicine-laced water back up. Harrow groaned and clamped his mouth shut against the sudden nausea.

Fishlegs steepled his fingers before him, a speculative look in his eye. "Feeling better?"

Harrow gingerly shook his head.

Heather and Fishlegs exchanged a concerned look between them, noticing the greenish cast to Harrow's face. A moment later they both started for the scullery at the back of the house intent on a bucket.

A awful gagging sound froze them both in their tracks. Harrow had tried to roll himself on his uninjured side before he was ill. He turned out to be mostly successful, though it left quite a mess on the bearskin rug on the floor.

He flopped back flat onto the couch, pale and sweaty. "Oh, gods... "

Fishlegs groaned with a sigh and hurried on into the scullery. He returned a moment later with a wooden bucket and handful of old cleaning rags.

Meanwhile, Heather dumped the mug of medicine-water out onto the field stone apron of the fireplace where it started to steam. "I think maybe that's enough off the herbal tonics until your stomach settles."

"I'm sorry, I… I-I didn't mean to make a mess." Harrow murmured through half-lidded eyes. His stomach was still flip-flopping in a threatening manner.

Fishlegs looked up from where he scrubbed the soiled bearskin at the couch's side. "It's… ah,n-no trouble, r-really." He swallowed, looking sickly. His constitution wasn't the best despite his physique. Heather stepped over and offered a hand. The husky young Viking gratefully relinquished the unpleasant task to her. She refreshed the rag as he stepped away and added, "It's the least we could do."

"Besides, you got injured… er, _re_ -injured, saving Hiccup." Fishlegs went on, taking a seat by the table. "We owe you."

Harrow watched Heather finish cleaning up and head back towards the scullery with the bucket of soiled water. "You... would have done the same."

"Just take it easy." Fishlegs suggested, grabbing the mug and making to follow her. "Do you want another mug of water?"

Harrow hummed his agreement not really having the strength for much else. The two dragon riders were back there for a few moments. Probably longer than it strictly took to dump a bucket out the back door and to fetch a fresh cup of well water. Harrow couldn't be sure but maybe he heard conspiratorial whispering. Dimly, he wondered what they were going on about.

Then, they returned, only Heather was the one bearing the mug of water. Fishlegs headed for the door, saying, "I"ll go and grab us something to eat from the Great Hall. Be right back!"

Harrow was not the least bit hungry. He thought it more than a touch obvious after his little episode that he wouldn't want to even _think_ about food for a while. But, off Fishlegs went, anyway.

Heather waited till after the front door was shut again before she sat down in one of the armchairs. Then, she started setting up the Chiefs and Talons pieces back on the game board. When she was finished, she turned and regarded him carefully with inquisitive green eyes. There was a glimmer of curiosity mixed with compassion in their depths. "Can I ask you a question, Harrow?"

"Of course. You just did."

Heather rolled her eyes with a wry smirk. "Ha, very funny."

"Well, I _have_ been told that I have a keen sense of humor." Harrow drawled.

Heather sat forward in her seat, elbows on knees and her chin resting in her hands. Her braid curled down over her shoulder. "Seriously, do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Alright. Shoot."

The raven-haired young woman waited a beat before asking, "Who is Signy?"

Harrow's breath caught in his lungs. He turned his head so that he could fix Heather with his good eye. "P-pardon me?"

"It's the name you called out when you woke from your nightmare."

 _Hel's Teeth, did he really call out Signy's name?!_ Harrow couldn't remember if he had or not. He didn't remember much of those drug and pain fueled visions, only the vague impressions of guilt and tragic loss they left on his subconscious. And, a sense of urgency he was powerless to assuage. _How was he going to explain this?_

"Harrow?" Heather called his name gently, watching his face. "Is everything alright?"

"Uh…!" _Oh great. That's a very intelligent response, Harrow!_

"Is this Signy person dangerous?" Heather went on to ask.

Harrow felt the lunatic urge to laugh and choked it back. _Signy, dangerous? Maybe to some old lecherous sea dog with roaming hands!_ "Uh, n-no… not really…"

"But it is someone you know, right? You seemed awful worried."

 _Think, Harrow, think! You can't give up anything now!_

Harrow clenched and unclenched his right hand into a fist upon his bandaged chest. His left hand throbbed where he held it down at his side. "Um… yeah, she's s-someone I know… s-she's, uh…"

Who _was_ Signy to Harrow? The thought had never really borne much consideration before. But, considering that she was always pestering him to be a better person, looking out for his well-being, and making him feel absolutely like the worst heel when he did something awful, he supposed she was sort of like a pain-in-the-ass younger sister.

 _That'll work!_

"She's my sister." Harrow blurted at last. "Yes, my baby sister!"

"Your sister?" Heather echoed, sitting up. Her interest appeared to be piqued. "Really?"

"Yeah." Harrow confirmed with a shaky smile. "And I guess I'm just worried about her."

"That may be an understatement." Heather opined with a quirked eyebrow.

Harrow managed an uncomfortable half-shrug where he lay.

"I'm sorry if it seems like I'm prying."

"You're curious and concerned." Harrow replied with a rueful twitch of his lips. "I get it. I would be too."

Heather carefully searched his face and seemed not to be entirely satisfied with how the conversation was going. She opened her mouth to say something more.

Thankfully for Harrow's sake, that was the moment that the front door banged open.

Heather got quickly to her feet as Ruffnut barged in with her brother and Snotlout close behind.

"Harrow!" Ruffnut cried, relief and elation in her voice. "You're awake!"

The excited young woman made to throw herself down on the convalescent but was brought up short by Heather grabbing her arm. "Maybe you should be a bit more gentle with him."

"Yeah, sis, give the guy a break." Tuffnut threw in with a grimace. "Last thing he needs is you getting all touchy-feely."

Ruffnut threw her brother a withering glare but otherwise heeded Heather's admonition. Harrow allowed himself to relax and offered her a smile. He had tensed himself to endure her enthusiastic embrace despite his wounds. "Hey, am I glad to see you! You came through for me with that last favor."

"Well, you are going to be the death of me with all this rushing into fights half-healed!" Ruffnut told him, crossing her arms. She tried to maintain a scowl and found her lips kept curling into a smile. It seemed she wanted to be cross with him but couldn't. "No more heroics for a while, you hear me?"

Harrow sketched a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Snotlout snorted derisively as he elbowed his way past Tuffnut. "What heroics? From what I see, he got his ass handed to him. _Again_!"

Heather shot him a warning look. "Snotlout…"

The brawny young man threw up his hands. "Hey, all I'm saying is he let the kidnapper get away last night!"

Ruffnut rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, and you caught him. Good job."

"Thanks so much for your concern, Snotlout." Harrow deadpanned from where he lay. "Good to know you were so worried."

Snotlout shrugged, unapologetic. "I call them as I see them."

"We should be thankful that Gothi's treatment was such a success." Heather reminded them, giving Snotlout another pointed glare. "Internal bleeding is no joke."

"What?" Snotlout groused, leaning against the couch. "He's fine! Isn't he the big, tough paragon of Thor or some yakshit? What's all the fuss about?"

"How are you feeling?" Ruffnut asked Harrow, ignoring Snotlout.

"I've been better." Harrow replied. "I am a little hungry, though."

Tuffnut pounded a fist into an upturned palm. "Food! Anyone else as famished as me?"

" _No one_ is as famished as you." Snotlout snarked. "For someone who eats so much, how do you still stay skinny as a rail?"

Tuffnut grinned and flexed his less than impressive biceps. "Thorston metabolism, baby!"

Ruffnut rolled her eyes with a groan.

"Fishlegs went to get some stuff from the Mead Hall a little while ago." Heather informed them. "He should be back any time."

"Well, I say we don't wait around." Tuffnut declared. He nudged Snotlout. "C'mon, man, let's go see what's cooking."

Snotlout straightened up with a weary sigh. "Beats hanging around here with the _hero_."

Harrow made a rude gesture with his good hand in reply. Sadly, Snotlout didn't notice and the two young men were gone a moment later. Harrow sighed in disappointment. "If I wasn't laid up, I'd kick his ass so hard he'd be wearing it for a helmet."

Ruffnut laughed and Heather hid a smile behind a hand. "That's a mental image that will be hard to get rid of."

"Any idea how long I'm going to be out of commission?" Harrow wondered.

"Provided you don't go do something else stupidly heroic?" Heather replied, crossing her arms and casting a pointed gaze on him. "Could be weeks. You got away with a just cracked rib this time."

Harrow's heart sank and his stomach lurched. "Uh, wow… that long, huh?"

Ruffnut sat on the edge of the couch and looked down on him with a concerned expression. "Yeah, what did you expect? You're not made of gronkle iron. You can't keep jumping into fights all injured and outnumbered and expect to walk away without a couple new scars." She cracked a smile a beat later. "Though, it was totally _awesome_ how you went after those bounty hunters the other night. Anyone else would have waited for help, but not you! You're a crazy son of Odin, aren't you?"

Harrow swallowed uneasily. "Heh, heh, yeah… that's me alright…"

"You can't hurry the healing process, Harrow." Heather gently reminded him. "Just lay back and rest. Let nature take its course."

"Ugh, easier said than done." Harrow grumbled, prodding his wounded side gingerly with his good hand. His stomach rumbled as his hunger announced itself.

Heather got up and headed for the front door. "I'll go see what's holding Fishlegs with the food."

"And I'll stay here to keep you company!" Ruffnut added, patting Harrow on the shoulder. "Isn't that great?"

"Wonderful." Harrow agreed with more enthusiasm than he felt. His mind had turned to his long-term recovery and how little time he had left. He surmised he had little over a week to fulfill Viggo's contract.

How was he going to go about his task injured as he was? To make matters worse, he had no idea where to start with a plan. Berk would be on high alert after Pike and Orley's failed attempt on making off with Hiccup.

Hopelessness threatened to well up in Harrow's mind and to drown him. He squashed the rising tide of despair in the next moment. He had never given up before. He would not start now. Not with everything he had gone through so far. He would go on and hope opportunities presented themselves. If they did not, he would have to make some of his own.

"Midgard to Harrow!" Ruffnut suddenly exclaimed, waving a hand in front of his face. "Hello! Are you paying attention to me? I was talking to you!"

Harrow blinked. "Uh, oh… sorry, Ruff. What was it you were saying?"

With a angry huff, Ruffnut fixed him with a glare. "I was saying, don't forget you owe me for those favors the other night."

"Favors? What favors?"

"The wine, for one." She replied, her ire rising. "And for two, saving your butt by running to get the Chief. Don't tell me you forgot!"

"Oh! No, no… I haven't forgot." Harrow assured her, one hand raised in a gesture of placation. "Not at all!"

"Good!"

"It's just... I'm all bandaged up and everything." Harrow reasoned with an apologetic little shrug.

Ruffnut put a hand to the point of her chin, a thoughtful expression upon her face. "Hmmm… you have a point. Guess I'll just have to wait to extract my justly deserved compensation."

"Oh?"

"That's right!" Ruffnut crowed happily, looking like the Terrible Terror who had swallowed the fish. "So, rest up, buttercup! You're going to need your strength."

Harrow smiled a tad sickly. Then, as if on cue, he yawned. "Well, if you insist. I think I'll take a nap."

"Didn't you just wake up?" Ruffnut grumbled at first, but then she sighed and shrugged. "Nevermind. I could use a little shut-eye, too."

While Ruffnut sat herself down and stretched herself out on one of the nearby chairs, Harrow felt the leaden weight of fatigue fall upon him. He fell asleep listening to her mutter to herself, "Long patrol today… rough night last night…. Astrid better appreciate this…"

 **iIi**

Harrow slept deeply. He had no more dreams. Or, at least none that he could recall. He woke to the feeling of a wet, rough tongue slathering sticky warm saliva over his bandaged left hand. On reflex, he batted the tongue away and groaned. He absently tried to wipe the mess off his hand onto the furs lining the couch. Beside him there was a surprised grunt, an indignant huff of hot, fishy breath in response.

"Toothless! Quit it, already!" A familiar nasally voice interjected. Dimly, Harrow recognized the voice as he slowly woke up. It felt like he had been sleeping for ages.

"Hiccup? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's -" A low warble cut off Hiccup's reply. "Hey, hold on, I was getting to it!"

Harrow managed to open his eyes in the next moment and look around. The main room of Haddock Hall as dimly lit by the flickering light of a built-up fire in the grate. Outside, the wind could be heard whistling around the sturdy edifice. Hiccup stood by the hearth, iron fire-poker in hand. Toothless lay beside the couch, glaring at Harrow with ear-flaps flat to his head.

"He's upset you pushed him away." Hiccup explained, motioning with the fire-poker. "He just wanted to check and see if you were still breathing."

Toothless warbled again, pushing a broad warm nose against Harrow's shoulder. He gazed upon the young man with his green expressive eyes radiating an almost human concern.

Harrow raised his good hand and patted the dragon on the snout. "Still alive. Not dead yet."

"Well, you at least slept like the dead." Hiccup remarked. He put the poker aside, point-down with the handle resting up against the stones of the hearth. "You didn't stir when Fishlegs and Heather came back with food for you."

Harrow noticed then the loaf of bread, wheel of cheese, and platter of sliced yak-meat on the aforementioned table. The sight of food set his mouth to watering. His hunger nearly outweighed the dull, insistent ache in his side.

"Are you hungry?"

Harrow licked his lips. He felt like he was drooling. "Like I could eat a whole yak."

"Well, Gothi came by a little while ago. She said you could sit up, if you wanted."

"And I do. Can I get a hand?"

Hiccup came around the table and offered his left hand. Grasping the offered limb with his good right hand, Harrow grunted with the effort of hauling himself into a sitting position. He felt stiff and achy all over. His side flared sharply with the movement and he hissed at the strain. He cast an appraising look briefly over the other young man. Hiccup was stronger than he looked. Harrow supposed it was all that smithing he did.

"You okay?"

"I just got a bump on the head." Hiccup replied wryly. "You're the one who has the gaping wound in your side. How are _you_ doing?"

"Oh, it hurts still. No question there. But it hurt a lot worse earlier." Harrow muttered, propping himself more comfortably against the arm of the couch behind his back. "So, making progress, I guess."

"Good. I'm really glad to hear that." Hiccup took up a carving knife and sliced some bread and some cheese. He put these on a wooden plate and handed them to Harrow. "Here, eat slowly. I heard Gothi's medicine made you sick earlier."

Harrow made a face. "Ugh, don't remind me. That hag's potions are beyond disgusting!"

"Yeah, well, that _hag_ fixed you up when you were knocking on Hel's gate."

"And I'm grateful." Harrow insisted, picking up a piece of the cheese. He took a bite and couldn't surprise a groan of satisfaction. It tasted like heaven. "But, I'd appreciate not taking anymore of her so-called medicine."

"Well, it's a necessary evil." Hiccup remarked with a lopsided grin, sitting down at the table. Toothless got up and sauntered over to sit by his boy. He laid his head in Hiccup's lap and huffed. Hiccup began to scratch at several places on the dragon's head, eliciting loud rumblings of pleasure. His gaze turned and focused on the dancing fire. He appeared lost in thought. Harrow ate and for several blessed minutes he concentrated on the simple joy of filling his body with sustenance and listened to the crackle and pop of the fire. A companionable silence prevailed marred only by the fire, the wind, and Toothless' purring.

"Thanks, by the way." Hiccup blurted, turning his gaze from the flames. "I mean, I didn't get to thank you the other night. What with the surgery and you passing out..."

"Astrid saved you." Harrow replied with shrug. "I just ran interference."

"Well, okay then, thanks for running interference."

"And, really, for the record, it was Ruffnut who alerted your father to the trouble."

Hiccup shot him a long-suffering look. "I get it. It was a team effort. Can't you just take credit where credit is due?"

"When it is deserved, maybe." Harrow allowed, uneasy. He, of course, knew the real reason why he did what he did. Saving Hiccup was not so selfless as it seemed on the surface. Hiccup peered at him curiously in the flickering firelight, not sure what to make of his odd response.

Harrow headed off any uncomfortable follow-up questions by voicing a fact he had just noticed. "Where is everybody else?"

"Oh. Uh, getting ready for the execution. " Hiccup supplied with an uneasy grimace.

"Ah."

"Yeah, _no_ way I'm going to watch." Hiccup declared with some vehemence. "Why is it always death and violence? Couldn't there be another way?"

Harrow snorted derisively despite himself. "Like what, have him shovel dragon dung? Come on, the man is a cold-blooded killer."

Hiccup rubbed at his face with a hand, agitated. "I know! But that doesn't mean we couldn't settle for something less… you know, _lethal_?"

"Trust me, Hiccup. I know the type of Viking this guy is." Harrow went on, softly. "He doesn't just get mad, he gets even. Greed, pride and hate guide his actions. A dangerous man to leave alive at your back."

Hiccup fixed him with a steady gaze. A twinkle of curiosity gleamed in those green orbs. "How do you know?"

"Uh… excuse me?"

"Well, it's just… you seem to speak from experience." Hiccup said.

 _Great, Harrow, you just can't help but keep letting things slip today, can't you?!_

"Uh, er… well, back where I'm from…" Harrow fumbled, trying not to sound too nervous. He cleared his throat to firm his shaking voice. " _Ahem!_ Well, Vikings like this bounty hunter are all over the place, you know? I've run into them before."

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow "You… have?"

"Yeah." Harrow assured him. He volunteered nothing more.

Hiccup took is lack of further reply as unease. He sat back in his seat and sighed. "I just hope things can settle down and be normal for a while. I don't know how much longer this can go on."

"What do you mean?"

"All this looking over my shoulder!" Hiccup exclaimed, suddenly getting to his feet. He started to rapidly pace in front of the hearth, waving his arms as he spoke. "Always wondering if I go around this next corner there isn't some goon of Viggo's waiting to bash me over the head and throw me in a sack! It's starting to drive me crazy! I mean, I almost set Toothless on some of Sven's relatives, for Thor's sake!"

Anxious, Toothless warbled low in his throat as he watched his human pace to and fro. Hiccup spared him a glance and a warm smile. "It's okay, bud."

"Have you talked with your father about all of this?" Harrow ventured, unsure of what else to say. He had never seen the young heir in such a state, even if he had only a rather limited window of experience to draw from.

"At first? No, I tried to handle my problems on my own." Hiccup explained, ceasing his pacing to lean against the warm stones of the hearth. "But, after last night… well, safe to say the Terror's out of the bag." He looked over with a lopsided grin. "Some way to deal with my problems, huh?"

"Not ideal, no." Harrow conceded. "But you're his son, so surely he'll protect you?"

"He's the chief. He should be protecting the village." Hiccup replied, resuming his restless pacing. Now he walked around the room. He made a rough circuit around the couch, forcing Harrow to turn his head to follow his progress. "I shouldn't be adding to his problems."

"But he is still your father."

"And, in true father-like fashion, he has _firmly_ suggested that I stay here on Berk until he feels it is safe for me to leave."

Harrow felt relief at hearing that. He hadn't considered the possibility of the Dragon Riders leaving the island. If they had, he could conceive of no scenario in which he'd be able to tag along. This news was good. He hoped Stoick didn't change his mind anytime soon.

"Anyway." Hiccup said a moment later. "That is a problem for later. You need to recover, and I need to figure out what to do about the Viggo problem."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." Harrow remarked, trying for a reassuring smile.

"Glad something thinks so." Hiccup muttered. "If you need anything, I'll be upstairs."

Hiccup beckoned Toothless with a gesture and together the two of them went up to the loft. A door softly shut a moment after they had passed out of sight. Harrow listened for a while to the crackling of the fire before working himself carefully back into a reclining position.

Sleep would not find Harrow easily again that night as his mind raced with nascent plans for the near future.


	18. The Plot Thickens, Part 2

A crash started Harrow awake the next day. He jerked awake with eyes wide open and just barely checked himself from trying to bolt upright on the couch.

Stoick stood stock still by the fireplace, frozen in the act of trying to fill the cooking pot with well water. The bucket had slipped from his hand. His beard twitched with embarrassment and surprise turning to guilt briefly before he straightened up and coughed into his fist.

"Morning." he grunted.

"Chief." Harrow replied.

Stoick cleared his throat and bent to pick up the bucket. "Sorry about that, wasn't paying attention. Didn't mean to wake you."

"No worries."

Stoick gripped the bucket before him in both of his meaty hands. "Sleep alright?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Right." Stoick muttered, headed for the back door of the hall. "Gothi will stop by a little later to check on your wounds. I'll get some porridge on the fire. It's not much, but it will fill you up."

Harrow frowned. "Thank you, sir, but you really don't have to do that."

Stoick waved it off brusquely. "Nonsense! You're a guest in my hall, least I could do is make the one thing I can for you to eat."

Harrow heard the back door slam open as the Chief headed outside. From upstairs, he heard the floorboards creak as something four-legged moved across the loft. There was a warble and the sound of a muttered reproach by a still-sleeping Hiccup. Then, a second later, "Ugh! Gods! Toothless, come on, bud! This was a fresh blanket!"

Stoick came back in from the back hall. He glanced up at the underside of the loft and rolled his eyes. He finished filling the cooking pot and added the grains. A moment later, the sound of the loft door creaking open carried down the stairs. Toothless scampered ahead of his rider, sniffing the air eagerly. He paused at the foot of the stairs and looked at Harrow where he lay. He started forward, tongue lolling.

Harrow tried to shrink back from the oncoming Night Fury. "Hey! What are you doing? Toothless!"

The Night Fury licked him, trilling happily as he did so. Harrow tried not to gag as he was covered with warm, sticky fish-scented saliva.

Hiccup hurried down the stairs. "Come on, Toothless, don't go making things worse. Harrow's not well and having you jump on him isn't helping him!"

Toothless relented reluctantly as Hiccup gently pulled him back off the couch. He settled for bumping his head against his rider's hip, then regarding Harrow with a gummy grin.

Coming back into the room, Stoick regarded their antics with a shake of his head. "Morning, son."

"Hey, dad." Hiccup returned. He walked over to a basket on the floor and flipped it open. Harrow could see the tails of fish inside. Hiccup reached in and grabbed a couple fish and tossed them to the expectant Night Fury, who snapped them up with obvious relish.

"Feeling better?" Stoick asked.

"Yeah, I don't even feel the bump anymore." Hiccup replied, closing the fish basket. Toothless made puppy-eyes at him to no avail. When he realized he wasn't getting anymore fish, he went over to the hearth and heaved himself down on the warm flagstones with a huff.

"Good." Stoick remarked, turning to stir the porridge. He tapped the wooden spoon he was using against the side of the cooking pot and hung it up. "By the way, the execution went off without a hitch. That's one less bounty hunter that we have to worry about."

"Great, dad… way to put the _barbaric_ in the barbaric archipelago." Hiccup drawled, spinning a finger in mock celebration. "Got to love the Viking Way!"

Stoick sighed in long-sufferance. "Hiccup. What's done is done. Let's try and focus on the day ahead of us."

"I guess we can try that." Hiccup muttered. "What's on the agenda, anyway?"

Stoick spooned up a three bowls of porridge. He set one before his son and one before his seat at the table. Harrow carefully sat up on the couch to receive his. "For you and me, Hiccup, it's chiefing lessons."

"And for me?" Harrow prompted as Hiccup groaned in distaste.

Stoick gave him an appraising look before handing him a spoon to eat with. "You just lay back and rest, lad. You've done enough."

A relatively peaceful breakfast followed. Harrow found the porridge to be acceptable, if not a touch bland. Unfortunately, the Haddock home had run through its supply of honey and dried berries, so the porridge remained that way. Not that he would complain and appear ungrateful.

With the meal over, Stoick rose from his seat and went to the door. "When you've finished cleaning up, Hiccup, come find me down by the docks. We'll go over trade routes again.

"Okay. I'll be along as soon as I can." Hiccup replied, gathering up the bowls. Stoick nodded once to Harrow and then stepped out the door.

"Sounds like you have a fun day in store." Harrow opined dryly.

"Yeah, it's going to a party, that's for sure." Hiccup drawled sarcastically, dumping the used bowls in the scullery. "Not all of us can just nap the day away."

"Hey, you can always go take a spear to the flank." Harrow shot back as Hiccup returned from his errand. "Sure fire way to get out of any pesky, unwanted chiefing lessons. I'll even save you a spot on the couch."

The young heir shot Harrow a mildly un-amused glare. "Hardy har har, you're _hilarious_. But, in case you have forgotten, getting skewered is your forte."

Harrow cracked a grin. "Oh, right. Well, don't go stealing my thunder, then."

"Wouldn't dream of it. About time someone else started taking the lumps around here." Hiccup replied, lopsided grin firmly in place. "Take it easy."

"Can't do anything but."

"Come on, Toothless. The sooner we get this chiefing thing done, the sooner you and I can get some flying in." With that, and a friendly wave, Toothless and Hiccup took their leave.

Left to his own devices once again, Harrow slumped back against the heaped furs of the couch. His wounds ached dully against the backdrop of his consciousness. He pushed them to the recesses of his mind and closed his eyes. He needed to think. He had to come up with a plan. He had put it off for far too long.

Harrow started formulating scenarios in his mind. In one, he used a boat to abscond with the heir of Berk. Unfortunately, by boat, he would be traveling far too slowly to reach the Northern Markets to beat the deadline. He needed something faster as an escape method, something that wasn't at the mercy of winds and tides. Stumped on that count, he turned to another facet of his plan. Hiccup wasn't just going to let himself be kidnapped. How was Harrow going to render him more manageable? There was the good old reliable thump to the skull. That method would work, but Harrow found himself reluctant to cause harm to the young man, lest Viggo see that as a breach of their agreement. He had said that Hiccup should be in good health, after all.

Harrow opened his eyes as a log popped in the grate. His eyes happened to land on the stoppered bottle full of Gothi's painkiller potion. Could the old healer woman possibly have something that could be used to knock Hiccup out cold? Harrow frowned, intrigued by the notion, but anxious as to the feasibility of that option. He would need to somehow get into her hut again and go through her stock of concoctions. But why? What excuse would he have to do that? He laid a hand on his bandaged side and pressed experimentally. The resulting pain was sharp, but manageable. Could he argue that his discomfort was becoming unbearable? He supposed that might work, but there was no way of telling if she would allow him back into her abode.

Harrow supposed he could just sneak into the hut at night. Another moment's thought rendered that option dead in the water, though. There was no way he'd avoid detection by the healer's gaggle of Terrible Terrors.

There was one more facet to the plan that could derail everything. How was Harrow going to slow the pursuit that was inevitable when the Riders discovered that Hiccup was missing? They would be on his trail within hours of figuring out the game was up. He would need to disable their dragons in some way.

Harrow would need to ponder those questions later as a knock sounded at the front door to Haddock Hall. A moment later the front door swung open to admit Gothi and Gobber.

"Top of the morning to you, laddie!" Gobber sang out cheerfully upon seeing Harrow awake. He shut the door behind him as Gothi hobbled towards the couch. "Glad to see you up."

"Gobber." Harrow replied, with a curt nod. Then he looked at the old healer woman and laid his good right hand over his heart. "Gothi. I just wanted to thank you for patching me up. Gods bless and keep you."

The old woman smiled warmly and dipped her head in acknowledgement. She raised a hand to the side as the blacksmith stumped over, and when Gobber merely looked at her empty hand blankly, she snapped her fingers sharply.

"Oh, er… almost forgot!" Gobber produced the wax tablet and bone stylus that the old woman used to communicate from a pouch that hung from his belt and pressed them into her hand.

Taking tablet and stylus in hand, Gothi wrote for a few seconds and handed it back. Gobber took it in his good hand and held it close to his face. "She asks how are you faring."

"I feel okay, I guess." Harrow remarked. Gothi leveled a mild gaze at him. Harrow cleared his throat and went on. "I mean, I'm still sore and moving around suddenly hurts."

Gothi nodded as if she expected as much. She wrote a short passage on the tablet. "She would like to inspect the wound." Gobber translated a second later. "Got to check and make sure the stitches are holding proper and that there is no sign of infection."

Gothi fluttered her fingers at Harrow and signed for him to hold his arms out to the side. He complied and she started unwrapping the bandages from around his chest. Gobber stood to the side, looking around the room, arms clasped behind his back. He whistled a jaunty tune as the healer leaned in to peer at the wound in Harrow's left side. She poked and prodded some, but it was only a mild discomfort and Harrow suffered it without complaint.

"Thank you, by the by." Gobber blurted suddenly. He coughed lightly, covering his mouth with one fist. "For saving Hiccup, I mean."

"Oh, uh… you're welcome." Harrow replied, taken off guard.

Gobber shrugged. "Didn't want you to think I was being an ingrate."

"I didn't think that. Honest."

"Good, good. I know we didn't start off on the right foot, is all." Gobber went on to say, shifting his weight from good foot to pegleg and back. "Didn't want you getting the wrong idea."

"Of course."

"And don't be surprised if you get any number of villagers giving their own thanks." Gobber said with a chuckle and a grin. "Only reason why they aren't lined up at the front of Haddock Hall is that the chief expressly forbade them from being any strain on you at the moment, recovering hero that you are."

"I'm no hero." Harrow's denial was automatic.

"Well, you can expect a lot of attention when you step out those doors." Gobber informed him. "So, you might want to retire that old line about not being a hero, lad. Because in the eyes of these people, that's just what you are."

Gothi finished wrapping the new bandages. Harrow hadn't noticed when the old woman had finished her examination. All Harrow could focus on was the last words out of Gobber's mouth and how uneasy that notion made him feel and how complicated things were becoming.

 **iIi**

Astrid felt some relief after the execution of the bounty hunter. She felt a slight unwinding of the tension coiled in her gut. However, the ball of unease remained. She had hoped that with the beheading of the last remaining reminder of the threat looming over Hiccup she could finally breathe easier.

Now, though, with the criminal's death at Spitelout's hands as the executioner of Berk, she had to admit that she was still waiting for the metaphorical other boot to drop. So, she went to try and work through the lingering sense of doom, anxiety and the mounting tension. Her limbs ached for physical release and her mind longed for some distraction. An enemy to fight. She went about this in the way she usually did.

Astrid began training as soon as the sun rose over the horizon and colored the sky with brilliant pinks and reds. She started with her usual jog through the woods on the outskirts of Berk, weaving between the boles of trees, leaping roots and swinging from low hanging branches. She launched herself into rolls, backflips, front flips, and stopped suddenly to axe-fight against imaginary foes. She immersed herself in her fitness routine like never before.

By mid-morning, she was drenched in sweat and a pleasant ache suffused her arms and legs. She came to a stop in a clearing deep in the forest and rested against a rocky outcropping covered in lichen. Setting aside her axe, Astrid sat down with a great sigh and rested her head back against the moist coolness of the moss, heedless of the consequences to her already mussed hair. Stretching her legs out before her she unhooked the water skin from her belt and took a mouthful. A breeze played through the branches of the trees and stirred her fringe in its passing. It felt heavenly against her overheated skin. She closed her eyes to luxuriate in the sensation. She must have dozed off, then. An unforgiven lapse in situational awareness that was uncharacteristic of her. The next thing she knew, she started awake as someone called her name in the distance.

"Astrid! Astrid, where are you?"

Astrid shook her head to clear the lingering fuzziness of her unintended nap and got to her feet. She turned to look in the direction of the familiar voice and saw Heather picking her way through the forest. "Over here!"

Heather made her way over. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you. What are you doing out here all alone?"

"I needed to get a workout in." Astrid explained, slipping a boot under the haft of her axe to kick-flip it up into her hand. "I was just about to head back to the village. What's up?"

"Actually, wait a second, and I'll walk back with you. I needed to talk with you first."

"Okay." Astrid said. "What about?"

Heather leaned against the outcropping, arms crossed and a thoughtful expression on her face. "Do you remember just before the anniversary celebration, Trader Johann gave us a warning about people from the Songless Isles?"

To be fair, Astrid had forgotten all about it. So much had happened since then. Harrow and the twins discovering dragon hunters in Berk's proverbial back yard, the attempted kidnapping of Hiccup, the manhunt for the bounty hunter, the execution. One event led into another, pressing the memory of Johann's warning to the back of her mind.

Astrid sighed, disappointed with herself. "No, actually. Why?"

"You know that Harrow woke up after the surgery yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, he didn't just wake up." Heather said. "He had a nightmare. A bad one. He was screaming a name when he came awake."

Astrid frowned, feeling confused. "A name? Whose name?"

"Someone named Signy. Harrow claims it's the name of his younger sister." Heather explained.

"He never mentioned a sister before." Astrid remarked, puzzled.

"He never mentioned _anything_ about his past." Heather pointed out. "Nothing about family or friends. No details about his life before Mulch and Bucket found him adrift."

"So, he wasn't forthcoming with personal details. You didn't exactly tell us everything about yourself when you first showed upon on Berk. And the nightmare could have been due to the medicine that Gothi gave him. Trust me, you haven't had to take a dose of her painkiller brew yet. That stuff is awful!"

Concerned, Heather pushed off from the outcropping. "Astrid, he was terrified. I think he was terrified something happened to his sister."

"You think that there is something he isn't telling us?" Astrid asked, finding that she didn't relish the idea of thinking ill of the young man who had saved the love of her life. It felt a little like a betrayal.

Heather met her friend's gaze steadily. "I strongly suspect there is more to Harrow then he is letting on. I don't know what, but I think it has something to do with his sister. And, I think that if he hasn't mentioned it yet, it's not good."

"You… you don't think he's dangerous, do you?"

"No, not exactly." Heather allowed. "But, I don't think we can ignore that something is going on. We need to get to the bottom of whatever it is."

Astrid nodded. She knew it was wiser to be safer than sorry. She shouldered her axe. "Let's go find the chief. He'll want to know, too."

 **iIi**

Hiccup followed along behind his father and tried not to yawn. Together, the chief of Berk and his heir strolled along the wharves of Berk's harbor, going from one storehouse to another. Stoick was extolling the virtues of Berkian wool and how valuable a commodity it was to the island. Hiccup, of course, knew this. Berkian wool was exchanged for metal ore and from Berserk, rare medicinal herbs from the Bog Isles and foodstuffs from the Meathead Isles. It had been one of the first lessons his father had him memorize.

"So you see, son, Berk may be a bountiful island on its own but without our trading partners in the Archipelago, we'd be much worse off than we are." Stoick was saying as he lumbered along, clearing a path along the wharf like a plow through soft earth. Hooligans stepped aside as he approached and flowed around him as he passed, intent on their own concerns.

Hiccup followed dutifully in his father's wake. "I know, dad. I got it. Trade is good."

Stoick laughed boisterously. "No, son, trade is _vital_! It's as vital to a prosperous Viking tribe as a shrewd trader, a strong band of warriors or a good fleet of ships."

"Or a wing of Dragon Riders?" Hiccup volunteered with a proud smile.

"Aye, just so!" Stoick boomed, slapping his son on the back. Hiccup just barely managed to anticipate the blow and avoid being knocked over. "Now, let's move on, Hiccup. We've had a wee refresher on trade. Perhaps we should go see our local herders next? Maybe see how the latest batch of prized Berkian wool is coming, eh?"

"Sure, dad, that sounds… uh, riveting." Hiccup replied, thinking that it sounded anything but. He had hoped to find an excuse to cut the lessons short after the walk around the harbor, but it didn't seem like he'd find any soon.

As Hiccup followed his father up the steep path back to the village proper, however, his luck turned.

Not-so-Silent-Sven waited for them at the top of the path. A small knot of Hooligan herders had gathered with him, all of which looked very unhappy. "Chief Stoick!" he cried upon catching sight of them, wringing his hands nervously. "Oh, Chief, we've got some bad news!"

"Steady, now." Stoick said as he and Hiccup approached. "What seems to be the matter?"

"Chief, it's happening again!" Sven cried. "We all thought with the Dragon Peace we wouldn't have to worry about our livestock anymore."

"Aye, so much for that!" rudely broke in another herder, a man Hiccup vaguely remembered was named Keldt Haskell. The burly drover shook a fist, his broad face coloring spectacularly. "The scaly devils are up to their old tricks, Stoick! Making off with our livelihoods!"

Hiccup was surprised to hear this. Stoick was just as mystified, raising a slab-like hand to forestall the rising tide of discontent. "Hold on, what are you on about? Dragons, taking your animals? That can't be."

"My father is right." Hiccup added, stepping forward. "We feed all the bonded dragons regularly down in the village stables, and the wild dragons can eat from the public troughs. Why would any of them want to go after your livestock?"

Keldt pushed past Sven to glare down at Hiccup. "I'm no dragon expert. That title falls to you, boyo." Rough murmurs of agreement from Keldt's fellows in the group. "So, you explain this sudden rash of thievery. Go ahead, we're all listening!"

Hiccup involuntarily took a step back as the bigger man leaned forward. He spared his father a brief sideward glance, saw his father drawing himself up for a scathing rejoiner, and decided to try and de-escalate the situation. He knew that any perceived attack on him would only make his father less amiable to reason.

"Well, okay, let's think a bit on the subject." Hiccup said, forcing himself to take a step forward to meet Keldt. "So, if it's not the bonded dragons, or those who nest nearby the village, it might be some wild dragons from the Uplands. Berk has a few flocks of dragons that have never had any contact with us here in the village. It could be a rogue wild dragon that was pushed out of it's usual hunting grounds by a new arrival and is just taking the easiest source of food."

"A rogue wild dragon?" Stoick echoed, frowning under his beard. "We haven't had any such problems with the wild flocks in the years since they started coming to Berk. Why would they start trouble now?"

Hiccup shrugged. "I don't know. Fishlegs and I surveyed the Uplands when the first flocks arrived, we thought there was enough land and resources. But, that was some time ago, and things could have changed."

"Some dragon expert you are." Keldt groused, unsatisfied. He turned his baleful gaze to Stoick. "Alright, chief, what are you going to do about our problem? We can't just let this go on. We won't stand for it!"

The other herders loudly voiced their support, all save Sven, whose facial expression switched back and forth between looking worried and apologetic.

"Alright, you've made your case and brought the issue to my attention!" Stoick boomed, raising a hand again to forestall the outburst. "Make no mistake, we'll get to the bottom of this rogue dragon situation as soon as possible."

"We have never regretted any of the decisions you've made, Stoick." Keldt said, backing up and turning to leave. "But, if things don't get set to rights, this whole living with dragons idea will be the first. And from there it is a slippery slope to a vote of no confidence. Mark my words!"

Stoick glared at the man's broad back as he swaggered off with his fellow herdsmen in tow. Sven remained behind. "Don't take his words to heart, Chief. He's just frustrated and scared." he said.

"I know, Sven. I understand his frustration and fear. Trust me, there is no one better." Stoick replied wearily as he took off his helmet and massaged his furrowed brow. Another famous headache was threatening.

"Dad?" Hiccup asked, peering at his father. "Are you okay?"

Stoick jammed his helmet back on his head. "I'm fine, son. Nothing a block of ice can't fix. Well, maybe a block of ice and a mug of mead." He regarded his son seriously the next moment. "Hiccup, we need to make sure that this situation is under control. If wild dragons go back to raiding us for food, we could see a re-emergence of the old prejudices. All your hard work building the trust between Vikings and dragonkind could be undone."

Hiccup ran his hands through his hair. "I know, dad. This… this is serious."

"Whatever resources you need, all you have to do is ask, son." Stoick said warmly, laying a hand on Hiccup's shoulder. "I trust you completely to handle this matter in your own way. Just let me know what you find out."

"I will." Hiccup vowed, feeling now more than ever the weight of his responsibilities. "I won't let you, the village, or the dragons down."

"I know you will do me proud, son." Stoick assured him. "So, what is the plan?"

"I'll go get Fishlegs, and we'll go to the livestock pens at the edge of the village." Hiccup thought aloud, eyes unfocused as his mind whirled with ideas. "We'll look around and see if we can find signs of what kind of dragon is doing the stealing and how many. If we can find tracks, maybe we'll track them."

"An excellent plan." Stoick remarked. "Well, when you have something to report, I'll be in the Great Hall."

With mild trepidation, Stoick watched his son head off in the direction of the Dragon Academy. He hoped fervently that the drover's fears were unfounded.

The last thing that Berk needed right now was the outbreak of a second Dragon War.


	19. The Plot Thickens, Part 3

"Quit being such a big baby, Harrow!" Ruffnut groused, hands on hips. She stood in front of the couch, one booted foot tapping impatiently. "You've been laying around the last couple of days and that can't be good for you. You need your exercise, and I need to collect on my favors."

"Ruff, I don't think that this is such a good idea…" Harrow replied, trying to avoid her glare and unhappy scowl. "Gothi never mentioned that I was well enough to get up and walk around."

"Did she mention that you _weren't_ well enough?"

"No, uh… not really..."

Ruffnut grabbed hold of Harrow's hands in the next moment. "Then, let's give you a test run, shall we? I'll help you stand up. One..!"

"Ruff! Wait a second!" Harrow attempted to wrest his hands from her grasp, uneasy with the idea of getting up. The pain in his side was a background nuisance and hadn't flared since the night before. He really didn't want to push himself and find out he wasn't ready.

"Two…!"

"Ruff, I'm serious…!"

"Three!" Ruffnut sang out, oblivious to Harrow's protests. "Upsie-daisy!"

"Okay, okay! Hold on, I'll get myself up!" Harrow cried when she braced herself as if to haul him off the couch.

Ruffnut dropped his hands and stepped to the side to watch. "Suit yourself."

Harrow managed to get himself to the edge of the couch. Only feeling a mild discomfort, he got his feet under him and pushed with his hands palm-down on the couch on either side of where he sat. He felt the stitches pull at his side and the muscles protested the action, but he didn't feel anything rip or the pain increase intolerably. Ruffnut stepped up as he was on the verge of standing on his own and gave him the support of a shoulder.

Ruffnut smiled. "See? What did I tell you? You _can_ stand without keeling over."

"Yeah, looks like I can." Harrow admitted with a relieved smirk tugging at his lips. He winced as he attempted a step. "Not a hundred percent, but good enough."

Ruffnut nodded towards the front door. "Let's get you outside for some fresh air, shall we?"

"I guess it couldn't hurt." Harrow said, cautiously enjoying the feeling of being on his own two feet again. The wound in his side remained a dull ache but became no worse. He could deal with that. "I think you're right, I need to stretch my legs some."

"Of course I'm right! What you need is a leisurely stroll through the woods to a nice, sunny little spot I happen to know of." Ruffnut replied, smiling widely as they began a slow walk. "I bet that will help the healing process."

"Well, provided we don't go very far, I think I can manage it." Harrow supposed. "Lead the way."

Upon opening the door, Ruffnut stooped and picked up a basket that had been sitting on the other side. "I was hoping you'd say that. I brought along something to snack on if we get hungry."

"Wait a minute, is this a picnic?" Harrow asked, bemused. "You're taking me on a picnic in the woods?"

Ruffnut smiled broadly. "Sure am! This is going to be great, just you and me and nothing to distract us!"

"Is this one of the favors I owe you?" Harrow asked, quirking an eyebrow. "I mean, I would have agreed to go if you had just asked in the first place."

"Do you think I'd waste valuable things like favors on a mere picnic?" Ruffnut replied, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Ha! You'll find out what I'm going to ask of you as soon as we get to where we're going and settle down, and not a moment sooner."

Stepping out into the light of the afternoon sun shining down from a mostly clear sky, Harrow couldn't help but smile back at her. It sounded harmless enough. "Fair enough."

The walk down the slope from Haddock Hall was harder than Harrow remembered. He figured his endurance was still not what it once was, not since his initial injury by the dragon hunters. He worried that he would not be strong enough to do what he needed to get done in the coming days.

In any case, Harrow tried his best to keep up with Ruffnut as they skirted around the village toward the edge of the forest. If Ruffnut was hoping to avoid any interruptions in getting to the edge of the forest, she was sorely disappointed.

"Hey, look! It's Harrow, the one who saved Hiccup!" a man's voice called from behind them.

"Odin's beard, not now." Ruffnut muttered under her breath, annoyed. "Here comes the fanclub!"

Harrow couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What do you mean, _fanclub_?"

Sighing, Ruffnut turned round to face the owner of the voice. "You'll see."

Harrow turned with her and was surprised to see a crowd coming out from the village proper. Every face was lit with welcome and joy. The man whom Harrow assumed had pointed them out was in the vanguard, a typically stout Viking man with plaited blonde hair.

The man stepped past a resigned Ruffnut and right up to Harrow.

Without preamble he grabbed a hold of Harrow's good hand and began to vigorously pump his arm, all the while smiling and chattering amiably. "By Thor, I knew it had to be you! I says to myself, Hamwise, that's the young man everyone was talking about! The young hero who saved the pride of Berk. Allow me to be the first to offer my personal gratitude!"

Harrow winced at the man's vise-like grip and managed a wan smile. "Oh, that's not necessary, really…"

"Of course it is! There's no glory in being humble, lad!" Hamwise laughed, switching from shaking Harrow's hand to pounding him on the back.

"Whoa, there! Easy with the congratulations, buddy!" Ruffnut broke in, roughly stepping in front of Harrow protectively. "Just because he poked his head out of the chief's house to get some fresh air, doesn't mean you can manhandle him!"

Hamwise looked suitably chagrined. "Oh, beg your pardon, I didn't mean to…"

Ruffnut waved him back another step with a sharp gesture of her hands. "Yeah, yeah! Back it up, give him some space!"

Harrow gratefully took a step back, holding his breath against the protests of his injuries. When the worst had passed him by, he looked up and saw a crowd of villagers now gathered before them. They murmured amongst themselves with all eyes fervently on him. Harrow sagged as he felt a weariness gaining on him. At this rate he'd have to endure more than just a few accolades before he'd be able to get away. "Hel's teeth…"

 **iIi**

Hiccup and Fishlegs wasted no time in getting to the scene of the most recent livestock theft. Keldt Haskell's farm was the furthest from Berk, tucked away in a dell ringed by the forest that surrounded the village. The Haskell farmstead comprised Haskell Hall, the family's lodge, a barn, an outhouse, three livestock pens filled with peacefully grazing sheep, and one pen that bore the obvious signs of damage. Keldt was on hand to greet the two Riders, stepping out of his lodge's front door. He was even nominally civil. That is until he noticed that his property also hosted a Night Fury and a Gronkle.

"Oh, no!" Keldt cried, making a shooing gesture with one calloused hand. "Get those over-grown newts off my land! Right now!"

Toothless and Meatlug stopped in their tracks. The Night Fury growled low in his throat, earflaps flattened against his head. Meatlug gurgled in confusion to her rider, looking abashed.

"Don't listen to the mean old man, girl. He just isn't a dragon person." Fishlegs patted her affectionately and glared at the scowling drover.

Hiccup stepped forward, a restraining hand out towards Toothless. "Uh, Keldt…"

"That's mister Haskell to you, lad!"

Blowing an exasperated breath out his nose, Hiccup set his jaw and tried to let the rudeness slide by. " _Mister_ Haskell, please don't be difficult. We need our dragons with us as a precaution. We don't know what kind of wild dragon has been raiding your farm, or how many of them there are."

Keldt crossed his arms and glared obstinately. "No means no, boyo."

Hiccup looked like he wanted to throttle the man, fists clenched by his sides. Luckily, Fishlegs stepped in. Ever the diplomat, he spoke in a mild-mannered fashion. "Mister Haskell, please understand our position. A problem involving dragons requires a solution involving dragons. If you are concerned that our dragons may pose a threat to your livestock, take comfort in the fact that the Night Fury only eats fish and my lovely Gronkle only eats certain specimens of sedimentary minerals."

Keldt looked skeptical. "Fish and rocks?"

"Just so." Fishlegs confirmed smoothly. "No need to worry for your sheep. They are perfectly safe."

"Please, we're here to help you." Hiccup added.

Keldt looked thoughtful for a long moment. At length, he rolled his eyes. "Fine, do what you came to do. But, mark my words, if I'm missing another sheep when you leave, I'll march right back into town and have words with the chief."

"That is certainly understandable." Fishlegs replied, forestalling Hiccup's own probably more sarcastic and, decidedly undiplomatic, answer.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got chores to mind." Keldt told them. He headed into the barn, sparing them only a brief backwards glance.

When the disagreeable old herdsman had left earshot, Hiccup shot Fishlegs a disbelieving look. "He actually thought our dragons were going to eat his sheep? What, with us just standing there?"

Fishlegs shrugged. "So the guy doesn't know the first thing about the eating habits of Strike and Boulder class dragons. We really shouldn't be surprised. Next to Mildew, Keldt Haskell was the most vocal opponent to dragon-viking integration in the tribe, remember? The man is bound to be completely ignorant of anything dragon related."

"Good point. I think no amount of education is going to change that." Hiccup said. "We need to get some results and give him no more reasons to hate dragons than he already has."

"Let's start by giving that last pen a looking over." Fishlegs suggested, indicating the empty pen at the edge of the farmstead with a nod.

The two dragon riders and their dragons made their way over and carefully looked around. Immediately, both of them noticed that the ground was covered in dragon claw impressions.

"Hold it, bud." Hiccup told Toothless as they stood on the edge of the tracks. "Just sit tight. You, too, Meatlug."

"Good idea, Hiccup. We don't want to muddle the tracks before we identify them." Fishlegs said. He carefully stepped forward to get a better look at the tracks, boots sinking into the soft earth. He put a chubby hand to his blunt chin, eyes narrowed in concentration as his mind worked. "Looks like only one dragon was the perpetrator of the theft."

"Guess that makes things easier." Hiccup remarked, relieved. "But, these don't look like any of the local species we've seen in the Uplands. Or anywhere else on Berk, for that matter."

Fishlegs hummed in agreement, following the staggered double-line of four-clawed footprints from the splintered wooden rails of the pen to the edge of the forest some distance away. He peered into the underbrush but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He retraced his steps back to the breach in the sheep's pen, knelt down to examine the ruined rail. There, the tone of his humming abruptly stopped.

Hiccup was by his side in a flash. "Found something?"

"Look at these markings on the wood. It almost looks like something burned through these rails." Fishlegs pointed out, hovering his fingers over the wood in question. "Or maybe more like…"

"Dissolved?" Hiccup finished the question. "As if by acid?"

Fishlegs looked up at him from his crouched position. "I can only think of one dragon that spits acid."

"Changewings?"

Fishlegs stood and brushed off his pants. "In this case, a single changewing."

"But, Fishlegs, that doesn't make sense." Hiccup protested. "Why would a lone changewing be going after sheep? They're pack hunters. They hunt things like wild boar and other dragons."

"Right." Fishlegs agreed. "But, I had hypothesized the possibility that a changewing pack might eject a undesirable member. Some dragon who could not coordinate with the pack, or held the pack back in some way."

"A changewing without its pack would not be able to hunt other dragons effectively." Hiccup thought aloud, staring at the ruined pen as thoughts turned in his head. "So, I guess it stands to reason that a lone changewing would go after easier prey."

Fishlegs nodded, having come to the same conclusion.

"Alright, so we have a lone changewing loose in the hinterlands of Berk. A rogue changewing who can't hunt dragons, so likely avoids the Upland flocks." Hiccup said, ticking off details on his fingers.

"We know already that changewings prefer heavily wooded areas for habitats, anyway." Fishlegs reminded him. "So that narrows the search parameters to areas immediately around the village or along the coastline."

"Okay, then, we know more or less where we might find it." Hiccup said, walking back over to where Toothless waited, earflaps perked. "Let's head back to the village and see if we can round up the gang."

"Good idea." Fishlegs replied, giving Meatlug a affectionate pat on the snout. "We're going to need all the help we can get to find it and drive it off."

Keldt emerged from his barn a moment later, wiping his hands on a rag. Upon noticing that Hiccup and Fishlegs were still on his property with their dragons, he sauntered over.

"So, did you two experts figure anything out about the damn scaly bastard what done made off with my sheep?"

"We have a good idea." Hiccup replied shortly, trying to maintain composure. He didn't know why, but this man had a knack for getting under his skin. "Your flock will be safe once we track it down and drive it away."

Keldt smiled nastily. "Really? Well, ain't that a load off my mind. That is, if you actually do it."

"Of course we will." Fishlegs assured him confidently. "We have everything under control."

"Well, you'll understand if I'm not terribly convinced." Keldt rejoined, still with that damnable smile on his face. "After all, you lot said we had nothing more to fear from dragons once they came to live with us here. Yet here I am, less one damned sheep. Funny thing, eh?"

 **iIi**

Tuffnut Thorston was not having a good day. First, he had been slow getting out of his parent's house. That meant he got stuck doing all the chores his mother would have normally doled out between he and his sister. Tuffnut could deal with that. After all, he had been doing those chores since he could walk. Ruffnut and he had made a game out of which one would duck out and leave the other to do all of it. Point to Ruffnut, in this case.

Then, having wasted his morning with menial tasks that were so totally beneath a Dragon Rider of Berk and the World's Most Lethal Weapon, he found out that Ruffnut had lied to him. Again, not really a big deal by itself. Siblings lied to each other all the time. It was a matter of routine. Especially to the Thorston Twins.

No, what really ruffled his feathers was that, instead of meeting him at the steps to the Great Hall to go pranking, she was nowhere to be found.

Finally, the thing that made the day really not good, was Tuffnut saw just how his sister was planning to spend her day.

Ruffnut somehow convinced Harrow to get up and go off with her towards the woods. Tuffnut saw them when the crowd of grateful Hooligan villagers caught up to them, eager to pay their respects to the one who had saved their beloved heir. That sight had caused a confusing jumble of emotions to churn in his belly. Annoyance that the adulation wasn't heaped on him, hurt that his sister would lie to him in order to go hang out with some other guy, and last but not least a growing sense of resentment aimed at Harrow. How dare he bewitch his sister! That was so most _definitely_ not cool!

The betrayal was almost too much. Tuffnut, too emotionally charged and being unaccustomed to dealing with such things, slunk off and decided to ease his woes with a mug or two of mead in the Great Hall.

He was nursing a third mug when Snotlout found him. The brawny young Viking raised an eyebrow as he approached, having never seen his friend in such a sorry state. "What in Hel's name happened to you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Tuffnut mumbled, dropping his head to the table with a thud. "Just go away."

"Oh my Thor, are you _crying_?"

Tuffnut jerked his head up off the table, furiously scrubbing at his eyes and glaring murder at Snotlout as he sat down beside him. "No! Course not, that's not what the World's Deadliest Weapon would do!"

"Oh, _really_? Because your eyes are red." Snotlout replied, a smug smirk curling his lips. "Missing your stupid little chicken, are you?"

"Yes!" Tuffnut snapped, clenching a fist. For a moment it looked like he was going to hit Snotlout, but a moment later he hung his head. "No..."

"Alright, if you aren't all broken up about chicken, what _are_ you crying for?"

Tuffnut wiped his nose with an arm and sniffed. "You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Really, _really_ want to know?"

"Yes, Tuffnut, I really do!"

"Really, really, _really_ -"

"TUFFNUT!" Snotlout exclaimed, slamming a fist down onto the table. "Just tell me already!"

Tuffnut groaned piteously. "Ruffnut and I were supposed to go pranking today, but…"

"But, _what_?! Damn it, I haven't got all day, spit it out already!"

"But she ditched me to go run off with Harrow!" Tuffnut blurted, grabbing Snotlout by the front of his vest. His eyes started to fill again with unshed tears, his bottom lip quivered most unbecomingly. Snotlout flinched away, uncomfortable with this rare display of emotion.

"Oh, how did it come to this, Snotlout? I thought Ruffnut and I were a package deal, she and I, I and she! Us against the world! How can she just throw me aside like this?"

"Dude, you _had_ to have known this was coming." Snotlout replied unsympathetically, slapping Tuffnut's hands away roughly. "Despite her nearly identical appearance to you, she is, in fact, a girl. Eventually, they get all googly eyes over some stupid guy, and they more or less lose touch with the rest of Midgard. It's a fact of life! You're going to have to get over it! If not for your sake, for all the rest of us!"

"I don't know if I can." Tuffnut mumbled, then sniffed again, obnoxiously. He was about to break down.

Now it was Snotlout's turn to glare at him. "Are you going to really just sit here, half-drunk, and mope?"

Tuffnut nodded slowly. "Uh, Yeah? What else am I supposed to do?"

Snotlout sighed in long sufferance. He stood up and slapped Tuffnut hard on the back. "Come on, you wanted to go pranking today, right?"

"Well, yeah, I did…" Tuffnut replied, puzzled. "But…"

"But nothing!" Snotlout snapped. "You are going to do something about this situation. And I'm going to help you, because I'm _such_ a good friend. We're going to go prank Ruffnut and Harrow. Hard!"

Tuffnut blinked, the words working themselves into his brain. A slow, mischievous smile spread across his face as the possibilities became clear.

He clapped a hand on one of Snotlout's broad shoulders while smiling that madcap grin of his own. "What did you have in mind, oh Snotty One?"

 **iIi**

"Hey, sorry that we got hung up so long with all those villagers." Harrow said to Ruffnut as they made their way through the forest along a roughly outlined path. They had only just broke away from the crowd. "I… ah, didn't expect such a turn-out."

"Eh, it's okay." Ruffnut drawled with a shrug. "You're kind of a hero, and a source for all the gossip-mongers in town."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Totally! They'll be talking about you for weeks to come. I bet Snotlout will be green with envy."

"One can hope." Harrow muttered, smirking. He gave Ruffnut a brief sideways glance. "By the way, it was touching, you and your parents together. I never would have guessed you were such a daddy's girl."

"I am not!" Ruffnut snapped, mortified. "I mean, sure, I love my dad and all, but I was more… um, _surprised_ he and my mom were in the crowd than anything."

Harrow chuckled. "I don't know, I'm going to have a hard time reconciling the tough warrior that you are with the girl who squealed and jumped into her father's arms. I mean, it was the most sweetest, most heartwarming thing I've seen in awhile."

"Harrow!" Ruffnut whined. She gave him a shove which nearly made him trip over an upraised treeroot.

"Whoa, hey now!" Harrow laughed, wobbling and trying to cover the twinge of pain the stumbling brought on. "No roughing the injured hero! That's abuse!"

Ruffnut huffed, pouting, and jogged a few steps ahead of him on the trail. "Serves you right, making fun of me! Let's see you walk the rest of the way without me there to help you. How about that, tough guy? How do you like that?"

"Come on, don't take it the wrong way, Ruff." Harrow called after her, picking his way carefully now that he was on his own. "I was just poking a bit of fun."

"I know." Ruffnut replied, rubbing her arm anxiously. She waited for him as he caught up "I just… well, it's hard to not want to be a little girl again, you know? Everything was simpler then. No fighting dragon hunters, or having to deal with other tribes, or exploring dangerous new islands."

"I thought you liked all of that stuff." Harrow remarked, puzzled. They started walking again, side by side. "I mean, all those dangerous and awesome adventures you and the other riders get into? I thought that was your thing."

"That, blowing stuff up at every conceivable possibility." Ruffnut confirmed with a smile. "But, all that stuff can be kind of stressful, too. Sometimes I wish I could just go back to the times I could run to my dad, and he could just scoop me up and tell me everything would be alright, you know?"

Harrow hummed in wordless agreement. The trail they followed gradually sloped downward and the going got a little more tricky as more tree roots and stones jutted up from the pine-needle covered forest floor. Harrow found himself breathing a touch harder than he would normally on the incline, felt a sweat break out on his brow, and his legs began to feel shaky as he strained to slow his steps against the insistent pull of gravity. He was careful not to strain his stitches too much.

Ruffnut offered him her hand, which he took gratefully. "Thanks."

"Can't have you falling on your face out here." Ruffnut replied with a smirk. "I really don't want to have to drag you back to Berk on my own."

"Your concern is really touching." Harrow drawled wryly.

The trail went on a little further at a slope before leveling out. A break in the trees ahead of them revealed a wide, sun-filled clearing with a field of wild grasses dotted with the blossoms of hardy flowers. Placed roughly in the middle of this clearing was a chunk of stone, cracked and stained by the elements and time. Grey-green lichen had taken a hold on several places. The top of the stone was worn roughly flat and smooth, like a table.

"Wow, this place is beautiful." Harrow observed, looking around. "How did you find it?"

Ruffnut led him by the hand into the waist-high grasses. "From the air. Tuff and I were flying overhead one day on Barf and Belch and I looked down. I remember thinking that it looked nice and out of the way. Perfect if I ever needed to get away from the village, or my brother."

"Does anyone else know how to find it?" Harrow asked as they approached the stone. "Not that I'm happy with it just being us out here."

Ruffnut shook her head, smiling. "I don't think so."

She hauled herself up on the stone and sat cross-legged with the basket in her lap. Harrow carefully pulled himself beside her and sat with his legs hanging over the edge, sighed as the strain on his wounds eased.

"Are you okay?" Ruffnut asked.

Harrow straightened himself up. "Yeah, I'm good. Just feels good to sit after that walk."

"Good."

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really. Thanks for asking, anyway." Harrow replied. "But, you can eat something, if you want. I won't mind."

Ruffnut opened the basket and fished out an apple. She bit into it and munched thoughtfully for a little while. A breeze played through the trees around the clearing and through the grasses around them, like ripples in a pond of green water. The stone under them was warm with the rays of the sun. Harrow sighed again, wishing that time could stop. This scene was perfect. But fast on the heels of such happy thoughts, his mind strayed to the dark bargain hanging over his head and the terrible thing he must do to keep it.

Allowing himself a moment of selfishness, he pondered how things could have been if events had fallen together differently. If Viggo had never kidnapped Signy to use her as leverage against him. If, somehow, he had found his way to Berk through different circumstances. Would he have still won the trust of the Hooligans? Would he still have struck up the friendship that was budding between himself and the heir of Berk?

He turned and gazed upon the young golden-haired woman who sat close beside him, almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Would Ruffnut still have felt the way she did about him? Studying the lines and curves of her face, another thought dawned on him unexpectedly. Would he have felt the way he does about her?

"You're staring." Ruffnut's mild, matter of fact observation startled him. Harrow realized that she was now staring right back at him. Her blue eyes to his mismatched ones of grey and glass. He turned his gaze aside, abashed, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun spread over his face.

"Uh… sorry, about that..." Harrow muttered, flustered.

"Don't be." Ruffnut told him softly. A cheeky smile curled her lips as she leaned in closer. "You're finally checking me out, aren't you? Admit it!"

Harrow gaped at her, wide-eyed, for a moment. Then, clearing his throat, regained his composure, and hoped to speak with more confidence than he really felt.

"Suppose that maybe I am."

"You don't know how happy that makes me to hear that." Ruffnut murmured, still holding his gaze. "Can I be honest with you? I keep thinking back to the night Hiccup almost got kidnapped again. I keep replaying that kiss, and I can't help but feel like I rushed it."

Harrow's heart felt like a restless bird, fluttering in his chest. It was an unusual, yet not wholly unpleasant feeling. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Mind if I try again?" Ruffnut asked, her nose nearly touching his. "I'd take it as a favor…"

Harrow knew it was probably a very bad idea. He didn't know if what he felt was genuine, but he knew the feeling was slowly growing stronger. It would only end in heartbreak if he allowed it to progress. Of this he was certain, but that concern was only held by a small part of him in that moment.

The rest of him threw caution to the wind and crossed the distance between them. This time, instead of Ruffnut stealing a kiss by ambush in the heat of the moment, she was pleasantly surprised to find a willing participant.

She sighed happily, put a hand to the back of his head to deepen the kiss, and milked it for all it was worth. For long seconds, there was only the two of them and this first act of intimacy.

But that moment was completely shattered when a voice that registered as Snotlout's cried out. "INCOMING!"

Taken by surprise, they hastily broke their kiss. Something thick and moist and utterly _putrid_ landed atop Ruffnut and Harrow before they knew what was going on. The cloying stench of yak-dung invaded their nostrils and coated their tongues. More of the awful filth fell from the sky and landed on and around them. The brown hail went on for a second or two more. Shocked and nauseated, Ruffnut and Harrow could not get themselves out of the line of fire quick enough, scrambling madly to get down off the rock where they were perfect targets for the fecal bombardment.

At last the dung stopped falling, and checking her desire to gag, Ruffnut leaned around the edge of the outcropping to see just who had dared prank them so badly, a vicious snarl contorting her face. "Snotlout Jorgenson, you're a dead man! You hear me?! A dead man!"

Harrow spat and looked around the other side of their cover to see that, yes indeed, none other than Snotlout Jorgenson was doing a merry little victory dance just inside the tree line, laughing and crowing his success with shouts of "Snotlout! Snotlout! Oi! Oi! Oi!" It looked like he had set up a giant slingshot using a bag and some rope tied between two trees.

"Hey, I can't take all the credit for this!" Snotlout shouted back, his grin wide. "I mean, that was just round one!"

"I'm going to shove my foot so far up your ass, you'll be tasting the leather of my boot!" Ruffnut screeched, her face coloring spectacularly under the layer of dung she wore. Then, Snotlout's words sunk in and her face fell. "Wait… there's more than one round?"

"Oh, yeah, there is!" Snotlout called back, clearing enjoying himself very much. "Tuffnut, let 'em have it!"

"With great pleasure!" Tuffnut called from the other side of the clearing.

"Tuffnut?!" Harrow exclaimed in surprise, snapping around to watch with mounting horror as Tuffnut released his hold on a second makeshift slingshot. Another smelly volley of dung arced up and towards where Harrow and Ruffnut had tried to take cover.

Harrow, realizing he could not avoid this second attack, merely stood his ground. His next words were very apropos. "Aww, crap…"

The dung landed and they were coated with a second layer of stinking, clinging muck. This time, Harrow couldn't hold back his gorge, and he was ill. He bent over at the waist, bracing himself with his hands on his knees while his stomach emptied itself. The act of vomiting aggravated his wound, but he was helpless to stop his body's automatic reaction to the overwhelming disgust he was drowning in. Of to his side, he heard Ruffnut also being sick, and he sympathized with her.

Oblivious to their misery, Tuffnut and Snotlout ran out from their respective ambush sites and chest-bumped each other in the middle of the clearing, laughing and carrying on in a most obnoxious manner.

"Ha ha! Did you see their faces? That was _priceless_!" Snotlout crowed, slapping Tuffnut on the back in a congratulatory manner. "That couldn't have gone better if we tried!"

"Heh, yeah! That was EPIC!" Tuffnut agreed, pumping a fist in the air. "We are the masters of the ambush prank, bar none!"

Still fighting dry heaves and the agony that now flared bright from his side, Harrow lurched toward the two young Vikings still laughing it up. He was nearly upon Snotlout before the other young man registered what was happening.

"Hey… Snotlout!"

"What?! Can't you see we're cele-" was all Snotlout got out before Harrow's good fist hammered into his face. The blow snapped his head back and knocked him down.

"Hey, no fair! You suckerpunched him!" Tuffnut cried out in protest. "Where is your honor?!"

Grimacing, Harrow wiped some bile from the corner of his mouth with the back of his bandaged hand as he regarded the male Thorston twn. "No such thing as fair in a fight, Tuff. Besides, you have bigger things to worry about right now."

On cue, Tuffnut was tackled by his enraged sister, who was screaming like an enraged banshee. She bore him down hard to the ground and straddled him, knees pinning his arms so that he could not defend himself. She rained fists down on his defenseless face, then, all the while shouting.

"This! Is! For! Ruining! My! Special! Moment!" she cried, punctuating each word with a blow.

"OW! Hey, it's not my - OW! - fault!" Tuffnut yelped, weathering her assault to no avail. "AUGH! Snotlout - UGH!- talked me - OW!- into it!"

"Oh, _really_?!" Harrow snarled, reaching down to grab the front of Snotlout's vest. He pulled the dazed young man up to stand swaying on his feet. Before Snotlout could make a reply, Harrow punched him again, spinning him to the ground where he landed on hands and knees. Harrow was caught off guard next by a sudden backwards kick to the stomach as he advanced, knocking the air from him.

"You had it coming!" Snotlout growled, getting up a tad unsteadily as Harrow staggered back trying to catch his breath. The Jorgenson scion bent and picked up the helmet that had been knocked off his head, jammed it back on and wiped the blood leaking from a split lip with the back of one hand. "Making moves on Tuffnut's sister? Not cool, bro. Not cool at all. As a friend, I had to help the guy out. What better way than pranking the ever-loving shit out of you with actual yakshit?"

"You…son... of a bitch!" Harrow raggedly gasped, forcing himself to stand up straight. His side felt like someone had stuck him with a hot poker, but he was so high on adrenaline that he disregarded the pain as a background nuisance. The need to rearrange Snotlout's face was more pressing.

"Yeah, well, you're an ugly yak-fucker." Snotlout replied, sneering. "I should have done this when I first saw that mistake you call a face!"

The brawny young Viking hauled back and threw a punch. Harrow narrowly ducked under the hasty attack, wobbled on his feet, threw his own punch. Snotlout juked aside easily, countered with an uppercut that surprisingly connected solidly and actually lifted Harrow off his feet. The scarred young man landed hard on his back, seeing stars in his vision. His jaw throbbed terribly.

Snotlout stood over him, shaking his hand to try and lessen the sting. "You're not really so tough, are you, yak-fucker?"

"SNOTLOUT!" Ruffnut screeched, stalking towards him. She had left her brother groaning in the grass, unwilling to get back into the fight. The look on her face was furious. The dung on her seemed to steam from her wrath. "You touch him one more time, and I swear they will be burying you right here! IN PIECES!"

Snotlout turned to face her, unimpressed. "Don't think I'll hold back because you're a girl, Ruff."

"That's fair, because I'm not holding back because you're a Jorgenson!" Ruffnut quipped, sneering. She raised her fists, sliding one foot forward into a ready stance. "You and me, _Snotpout_!"

"Just remember, you wanted this." Snotlout replied, stepping forward to meet the irate blonde.

Harrow watched the two of them square off from where lay on the ground, panting from exertion and pain, a hand to his aching jaw. He was annoyed that Snotlout had managed to best him, but wrote it off to his generally poor fighting shape. He spat blood from a bit tongue and winced as that set his jaw to throbbing anew.

"Well, are we going to fight or stare at each other all day?" Snotlout demanded, glaring at Ruffnut. Neither one had made a first move.

Off to the side, mostly forgotten, Tuffnut groaned and sat up. He looked over to where his sister faced off against Snotlout. His expression went blank with fear. "Uh, guys…?!"

"Shut up, Tuff!"

"Stuff it, bro!"

Both combatants snapped, almost in sync with one another.

"But, guys…!" Tuffnut continued, his jaw working as if he was trying to force the words out.

"WHAT?!" Ruffnut and Snotlout exclaimed, exasperated at being interrupted again.

Tuffnut merely pointed, having given up on words. His expression had gone from blank fear to terrified.

Harrow looked to where he indicated and felt his blood run cold. The air over the stony slab was distorted in an unnatural way. Slowly, as if color was being poured into a mold, a shape appeared. A dragon lounged upon the sun-warmed stone mere feet away, tail twitching and long tendrils flowing in agitation.

"Oh… my… Thor!" Ruffnut mumbled, taking a step back. "The Changewing!"

"What the Hel is it doing here?!" Snotlout cried in dismay.

The Changewing stood up to it's full stature and spread its wings in a threat display, roaring loudly. It coiled itself, preparing to leap to the attack.

"RUN!" Snotlout screamed, before suiting words to action and sprinting head-long away from the clearing. Tuffnut was not far behind him.

"Come on, Harrow!" Ruffnut bent and grabbed his hand, hauling him to his feet. Behind them the Changewing descended the rock with a single smooth leap and began to close on them, hissing.

Harrow couldn't look away from the approaching dragon. There was a certain beauty in the red, slightly sparkly scales and the movement of the tendrils with their leaf-like fleshy protrusions. He stumbled into a run when Ruffnut pulled, finally breaking the almost hypnotic power the oncoming predator had upon him He noticed one more detail about the Changewing as he broke into a run alongside Ruffnut.

The Changewing had a crescent-shaped scar across it's snout.


	20. The Plot Thickens, Part 4

At first, Harrow did not register their flight through the woods from the enraged Changewing. Led by Ruffnut's tight grip around his wrist, he managed to keep pace ably enough, managed not to stumble too much over roots and duck under low hanging branches, but he wasn't fully aware of where they were going.

No, his mind was turning over something Ruffnut had said just before Snotlout started their pell-mell run back towards Berk. She had shown more than a passing recognition for the particular dragon now pursuing them. Harrow knew why, of course. They had seen this dragon back on the nameless isle where the Hunter's had made their trapping camp. In fact, they had freed this particular dragon, so why was it here now? Something did not add up.

But, he had to cast those thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment and focus on more pertinent and immediate concerns.

To whit, avoiding the claws, fangs, and lethal acid of a very angry Changewing right on their heels.

Harrow could hear the dragon behind them, snarling and roaring, smashing through the underbrush and tearing up the forest floor. Every time he chanced a backwards look over his shoulder, the scaled beast seemed to have gained on them. He feared that at any moment a searing blast of acid might strike him and start the agonizing process of turning him into a steaming pile of sludge, or that the dragon might pounce and visit a more traditional end upon him. But more than his fears for himself, he found himself fearing for Ruffnut.

"Hookfang!" Snotlout hollered from somewhere ahead of them. "Hookfang! Where are you, you useless overgrown lizard?!"

"Barf!" Tuffnut joined in, calling for all he was worth. "Belch! Could use some help here!"

"Do they really think their dragons will hear them out here?" Harrow asked Ruffnut, skeptical. "I mean, we went a fair ways out from Berk, didn't we?"

"Dragon's have very keen sense of hearing." Ruffnut replied. She sounded very knowledgeable for a second, until she added. "Or at least, that's what Fishlegs is always saying, the big dragon nerd that he is."

Harrow felt a frisson of hope anyway. "Oh, that's good. So you're saying there's a chance Snotlout's dragon, or your dragon, might show up and save our asses?"

"Totally!" Ruffnut said, wincing as they hopped a fallen log. "But I think we ought to hedge our bets and run faster!"

Harrow couldn't fault that reasoning. "Fair enough."

The trail hadn't seemed that long when they had gone the other way earlier in the afternoon, but now it seemed to wind on forever. The wound in his side ached, but probably due to all the adrenaline coursing through him, he was able to bear it. He hoped the moisture running down his side and over his hip was merely sweat and not blood. He hoped he wasn't slowing Ruffnut down. He hoped that they reached the damn village soon.

Yes, a lot of hoping going on.

The crashing and roaring got louder behind them. Harrow idly thought to himself that for such a supposedly stealthy dragon, the Changewing was certainly making a lot of noise. Ruffnut swore as she stumbled and Harrow stumbled with her. Straining, he helped her regain her balance and kept her moving, urging, "Keep going!"

Ahead, through the thinning trees, the edge of Berk could be made out. Ruffnut laughed, relieved. "There's the village!"

Not a moment too soon, either. As they burst out from the forest's boundary, a flaming comet bearing flapping wings and a lashing tail descends behind them. Snotlout turned and skidded to a stop, smiling triumphantly. Tuffnut came to a stop beside him as well, grinning madly at the brawl to come.

"Alright, Hookfang! Now that Changewing is in for some payback!"

Harrow and Ruffnut ran just far enough to stand beside them and then turned to watch the impending confrontation. The red and black Monstrous Nightmare descends with a challenging roar, baring its fangs and spreading its wings to land in an inferno of its own making. The Changewing came up short with the bigger dragon now standing in its way. It roars and postures some distance from Hookfang, snapping its jaws and lashing its tendrils and tail, stretching its wings as far as possible.

"Get 'em, Hooky!" Snotlout shouted. "Show 'em who's boss in Berk!"

Another shadow passed overhead. Angrily trilling, Barf and Belch landed beside Hookfang and joined him in facing down the Changewing.

"Barf!" Ruffnut cried, happy to see the Zippleback. "Am I glad to see you!"

"Send that Changewing packing, Belch!" Tuffnut cheered, punching the air with one fist.

But wasn't just Hookfang and the twin's Zippleback that responded to the presence of the intruding predator dragon on the edge of the village.

From all over Berk, a multi-species cloud of dragons rose into the air and joined in against the Changewing, landing to form a barrier of scale and claw or hovering in a semicircle with the interloper at its center. Some dragons shot warning blasts to dissuade the Changewing from coming any closer, others dove in feigned dive bombing runs. A crowd of Berkians emerged from homes and shops to witness the display.

Harrow watched in awe as the Changewing thought better of its chances and retreated, never giving the angry horde of village dragons its back. It melted into the underbrush of the forest and disappeared from sight with a strange, almost mournful cry.

"That's right, keep on running!" Snotlout called after the departing dragon, running to the edge of the woods. "You remember this the next time you try and mess with the Snot Man!"

"That was awesome!" Ruffnut crowed as Tuffnut came over to where she stood with Harrow by her side. "Did you see how amazing our dragon was?!"

"Of course our dragon is awesome!" Tuffnut replied brightly, grinning like a fool. "Is it any surprise? Thorston-style training for the win!"

The two Thorstons engaged in a friendly sibling headbutt, very reminiscent of how they usually celebrate mutual victories. Tuffnut looked relieved, like he hoped she had forgiven him for his earlier behavior.

Then, suddenly, she punched her unsuspecting brother right in that smiling face of his, rocking him on his feet, and that notion must have shuddered to a dead halt in his mind.

Barf and Belch walked over to watch their riders closely, always curious as to what antics they'd get up to next. The crowd that had gathered to watch their dragons face down the Changewing now had something else to captivate their attention as well. Vikings relished a good brawl, after all.

"What the hel was that for?!" Tuffnut bawled in shocked disbelief, holding his abused nose. Blood leaked from between his clutching fingers.

"That was for being a fucking muttonhead!" Ruffnut snapped, beyond upset. "Did you forget that you pelted us with fresh yak dung?! You ruined our perfect, romantic afternoon alone!"

"I told you, that was all Snotlout's fault!" Tuffnut whined, his tone going nasal as his nose swelled. He checked to see how much blood was flowing. The answer, he found, was a lot. "Oh man, I think you broke my nose! I am hurt, _very_ much hurt!"

Hearing his name, and annoyed that it wasn't in any positive tone, Snotlout joined the dispute. He swaggering over from where he was praising his dragon on a job well done.

"Hey, I found you moping around in the Great Hall, crying your eyes out because Ruff ditched you to go play tongue-tag with this asshole!" Snotlout jerked a thumb over to where Harrow stood, following the proceedings while trying to ignore the nagging ache in his side. For his part, he glared slow murder back at the brawny young Viking.

"You wanted to go pranking today, and it just so happens that you also were pissed that Ruff betrayed you. I figured, two birds, one arrow, right? So, don't throw me under the damn yak-drawn cart when things don't go your way!"

" _Betrayal_?!" Ruffnut echoed, incredulous and outraged. "What are you even talking about?!"

"You blew me off! Then I saw you running off with Harrow!" Then, turning round on Snotlout, he added. "And for the last time, I was _not_ crying!"

Growling, Ruffnut shoved her brother hard in the chest. "So, what, you decided to then just come and dump yakshit all over us for the hel of it?"

"Not right away!" Tuffnut protested, stumbling.

Harrow tentatively raised a hand at that juncture. "Uh, for the record, I had no idea that she blew you off, Tuff. I didn't realize it'd be such a big deal."

Tuffnut shot him a flat look. "We're twins. We do everything together, it's like a law of nature!" Like that explained everything. Harrow put up a placating hand and backed up a step.

"Yeah, right, because I totally want my muttonhead twin _brother_ there when I'm trying to make out with a hot guy." Ruffnut drawled sardonically, rolling her eyes. " _That's_ going to really set the mood."

"You could have told Tuff the truth, at least!" Snotlout interjected. "None of this would have happened!"

Harrow could see that things were going to escalate as Ruffnut, Tuffnut, and Snotlout all began wildly gesticulating and raising their voices, trying to shout each other down. His gaze had drifted over to the crowd of villagers who were watching with quiet relish when Spitelout pushed his way through.

"Alright! Make way, coming through!" Spitelout cried, "What in Odin's beard is going on over here? What's all this commotion? And what the hel is that _smell_?"

"Hey pops, you just missed it!" Snotlout exclaimed, happy to change the subject. "A Changewing chased us to the edge of town and Hookfang and the other dragons drove it off! It was totally awesome!"

"A Changewing?" Spitelout echoed, skeptical, brow furrowed. "Here, on Berk? You sure, son?"

"We saw it, too." One of the nearby village women piped up. Several other Berkians nodded their heads. "It chased the them in from the forest, before your son and the twins' dragons intervened and chased it off."

"Better find the chief and tell him about this, then." Spitelout replied, rubbing his beard. He turned his gaze on Ruffnut and Harrow and sniffed the air. "Ah, _that's_ what that stink is! What the blazes were you two doing, rolling in the yak pens?!"

Before Ruffnut or Harrow could protest or explain, he waved them off. "Ah, never mind! I don't want to know. Come along, you can get cleaned up after."

"Do we really have to wait?" Ruffnut protested, gesturing down at her ruined clothes, then waving at Harrow. "I mean, we're both covered in this crap! What about Harrow's stitches? Isn't there a chance they might get infected? Maybe he should see Gothi."

"No, this is important. The chief said he wanted all you dragon riders at the Great Hall." Spitelout replied. "While you lot were off running around Berk all willy-nilly, a wild dragon was making off with sheep from the farms on the edge of the village."

"What, like the raids?" Snotlout wondered, unbelieving..

"Aye, just not so bad. For now. Hiccup is putting together a plan to nip the problem in the bud." Spitelout told them. Then, casting a critical eye over Harrow, he added. "As for your wounds, you probably should have stayed in Haddock Hall and rested, like any sensible person."

"I needed some exercise! I was going crazy just laying around." Harrow argued peevishly.

"Well, now you may have made things worse for yourself! But don't worry, I'll send for Gothi, and she'll meet you at the Great Hall. She can look you over there. Now, let's get a move on."

With only a moderate amount of grumbling, the three dragon riders and Harrow fell into step and followed Spitelout back through the village. The crowd of villagers dispersed with their passing, the spectacle of the dragon fight and subsequent argument over and done with. The day was getting late, after all, and there were still things to do.

Ruffnut hung back with Harrow as they made their way. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she kept pace. "Spitelout's right. I shouldn't have dragged you out of bed. Sorry." she said, softly, so that her brother or Snotlout couldn't hear.

"I'm fine." Harrow insisted. "Just filthy and a little tired, nothing a good wash and a night's sleep couldn't fix. I actually really enjoyed today."

"Really?"

"Yep." Harrow nodded, smiling. "Every part, except of course the running for our lives."

Ruffnut smiled brightly one moment, and then wiped the expression off her face the next when her brother looked back over his shoulder. "Come on, guys! Hurry up!"

"Hold your gods-damned Nadders, we're coming as fast as we can!" Ruffnut shouted back. When her brother pulled a face and looked away, the smile was back.

They rounded a corner and came to the village square, bustling with Hooligans going about closing up stalls and shops for the end of the day. Ahead, the spire loomed along with the staircase to the Great Hall, the sky beginning to take on the hues of twilight as the sun lowered to meet the western sea. Spitelout had already mounted the lowest steps. Snotlout and Tuffnut were not far beyond him on the far edge of the square's cobblestones.

As Ruffnut and Harrow set foot on the nearer edge of the square, Harrow asked. "What did you mean, back there in the clearing? When the changewing appeared?"

Ruffnut glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"I think you said, it's _the_ changewing. Not, it's _a_ Changewing." Harrow explained, giving her a pointed look.

"Oh, that's right!" Ruffnut gasped. "We never told you!"

"Never told me what?"

"You remember the Hunter's isle, the fight on the beach?" Ruffnut asked as they reached the bottom of the staircase. "And you got hurt?"

"Yeah, I remember that vividly." Harrow muttered, absentmindedly laying a hand on his wounded side in sympathy with the memory seared into his mind. "Why?"

They began to ascend the steps. Spitelout, Snotlout, and Tuffnut had already passed into the Great Hall ahead of them.

"Do you remember what happened next? Anything at all?" Ruffnut pressed.

Harrow tried to think back. He remembered the face of the Hunter who was going to finish him off, how he smugly spoke about how songs should be written of Harrow's battle prowess. How he was going to finish Harrow quickly as a favor. He remembered Ruffnut's words at the edge of his fading consciousness, pleading for his life with such urgency. No one else had ever cared so much about what become of Harrow Gudmundson. Well, that was not entirely true. There were a few others, but that number was precious few. Dwindling, even now.

Harrow was going to tell Ruffnut what he remembered in the next moment but before he could, they reached the doors of the Great Hall. The hall was much the same as it ever was, packed with tables and benches, dimly lit by torches and braziers, and slightly hazy with the smoke from the central fire pit.

"A Changewing? Here?" boomed the unmistakable voice of Stoick.

Spitelout was standing before the chief's table, leaning on the back of a chair. "Aye, that's what I said. But, I heard from the people who were eyes-on with the beastie. A Changewing is on Berk."

"So, that's the culprit making off with the livestock, eh?" Gobber remarked airily, sitting to Stoick's right hand at the table, his mug attachment filled to the brim with mead. "Just one dragon? Not much of a raid, I'd say."

Harrow noticed that the rest of the Riders were present as well. Snotlout and Tuffnut sat at a nearby table with mugs of mead already to hand, Tuffnut with a wadding of rags to his abused nose. Fishlegs and Hiccup stood with a map of Berk unfurled upon the chief's table. Astrid and Heather were there, too, leaning over the venerable work of cartography.

Toothless was in attendance, as usual, as constant as Hiccup's shadow. The Night Fury was laid out by the central fire pit, wings folded and tail curled around to cover his blunt snout. Every so often he'd crack an eye and survey the room but otherwise was content to rest himself.

"That is what Fishlegs and I already suspected." Hiccup declared. "The Haskell farm, as well as Sven's farm, and several others bear the signs of Changewing acid and footprints."

"We already have some ideas where the dragon in question might be nesting at night." Fishlegs added, dragging his finger around the coastlines and forests around Berk. He cast a look at Snotlout and Tuffnut, "And, thanks to the unintended reconnaissance mission you performed, we can now confirm the Changewing's whereabouts."

"That was the plan, all along!" Snotlout said, grinning widely, pleased with himself.

"The World's Greatest Weapon is always happy to help out." Tuffnut added, business-like, taking a swig of his drink.

"But what I don't understand, is why it is even here at all?" Astrid inquired, pointedly ignoring them. "Changewings have never been a problem on Berk. Like, ever!"

"Could migration patterns have changed recently?" Heather ventured thoughtfully. "On the edge, they changed sometimes, according to other dragons' flocking behavior and the seasons. Maybe that happened here?"

"A good guess." Fishlegs said, smiling appreciatively. Heather returned the expression warmly. "But, I would expect more than one Changewing to be on the island if that were the case. No, I feel we may have a situation more like the time when Snotlout stole a nest full of Changewing eggs and brought them home to Berk. Remember that?"

"Yep, sure do." Astrid muttered, shooting an irritated look over at Snotlout. "That was almost a disaster!"

"Will you guys ever let me live that down?! It was a one-time mistake!" Snotlout whined, sulking. "Who could have known that Changewing eggs looked like enormous jewels?"

"Anyone who read the Book of Dragons, that's who." Fishlegs retorted dryly.

"Now, there's a good joke, Fishlegs!" Tuffnut laughed, earning a death glare from Snotlout. "Who has ever seen Snotlout _read_?"

"Shut up, Tuffnut!"

Hiccup groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, well, putting aside Snotlout's dubious literacy, I'm pretty sure no one brought anything like Changewing eggs back to Berk. Right?"

A collection of nods from the Riders was his reply.

"Well, what else could possibly have attracted a lone Changewing to Berk?" Heather asked the group.

"I have an idea." Ruffnut said as she and Harrow joined the gathering. They had stood off a short distance, mindful of the funk that hung around them still. "I think the Changewing might be here looking for Harrow."

Harrow abruptly turned to look directly at the blonde young woman beside him, thoroughly bewildered. "Uh, _what_?"

Snotlout snorted derisively where he sat. "I call yakshit!"

"Oh, my Thor! I think Ruff is on to something." Tuffnut exclaimed, springing up from his seat in his exuberance. "Why didn't I think of this before!?"

"Because you barely think in the first place?" Astrid quipped, deadpan.

"Will someone please make some sense and stay on task?!" Stoick thundered, thumping a fist down on the table hard enough to cause it to jump.

Scoffing, Spitelout interjected. "Why would a Changewing be after him?"

"Because! It saved him from getting his head chopped off! Ruffnut and I saw it with our own eyes!" Tuffnut answered, waving his arms around. "Didn't we tell you that part when we got back from our patrol?"

"First I've heard of it." Gobber remarked with a shrug. "Chief?"

"I haven't heard anything about it either." Stoick admitted, turning his stony gaze on Ruffnut. "Why was this information left out?"

"It didn't seem important at the time, obviously." Ruffnut retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "We had Dragon Hunters practically in our backyard! Wouldn't you say kicking them out of our proverbial neighborhood ranks higher in that situation?"

"Fair point." Gobber opined, bringing his mug attachment to his lips.

"Hmmm, interesting." Fishlegs mutters, rubbing his chin the way he did when pondering dragon-related matters. "Is there any other pertinent details related to the Changewing that we should know?"

"He saved it from a snout trap." Tuffnut supplied. "We did mention that, didn't we?"

Ruffnut nodded. "We helped. I vaguely remember glossing that over."

"Aye, I remember that part." Stoick confirmed with a grunt.

Harrow remembered that moment. The trap releasing, the Changewing shaking itself free, and then staring back at him as if it somehow knew it had been his plan all along to free it. A nebulous possibility surfaced in his mind. _Could it really be that simple?_

"Okay, so a Changewing is on Berk because Harrow released it from a trap." Hiccup did not sound totally convinced. "I still don't understand why."

"I think I'm starting to, though." Fishlegs said. "It's a little shaky, but bear with me." He cleared his throat before he continued. "I believe that Harrow inadvertently formed what I'll tentatively call a life-bond with this Changewing."

"A who-now?" Snotlout muttered, pulling a face.

"A life-bond!" Fishlegs repeated excitedly, warming up to the subject as he thought about it. "I'd say it's sort of like an honor-debt in Viking society. You know, you save someone's life and they owe you theirs in return? Usually, in the sagas, the person who owes the life follows the person who saved them as a companion, or servant."

"Okay, great idea, Fishface. Except, there is one little tiny problem with your idea." Snotlout said, getting up to refill his mug. He gestured at the hefty dragon scholar with his empty drinking vessel. "The gods-damned Changewing tried to kill us!"

Fishlegs expression fell into contemplation again. "Hmm, that does sound like a problem."

"No, I think Fishlegs has got the right idea." Heather remarked optimistically. "If I remember correctly, it only intervened when it looked like Harrow was going to be killed. Right?"

Ruffnut and Tuffnut nodded.

Heather went on, turning her gaze on Harrow. "Okay. So, today, what happened that would make it act to defend you?"

"Snotlout punched me in the face." Harrow replied, irritably, sparing a hard glare for the brawny young Viking in question. Then he froze as the realization dawned on him. "Oh gods, that's it! That's why it revealed itself!"

"Why did Snotlout punch you in the face?" Astrid asked. She started over to take a look at him. Then, she wrinkled her nose as she picked up on the smell. "Ugh! _What_ is that?"

"Yeah, about that." Ruffnut drawled, glaring at over at the offenders fit to light fires. "My idiot brother and Snotlout ambushed us while we were out in the forest, minding our own business."

"Yeah, right!" Snotlout snorted derisively, but Tuffnut had the decency to look apologetic at least when the rest of the group turned unhappy eyes on them.

"We wanted to go get cleaned up." Harrow supplied with a shrug. "But, Spitelout said this meeting was important."

Stoick, who now registered the lingering foetor of yak waste with a quick blink of his eyes, showed no sign of being disgusted. He just shot a dark look at his brother in law, who in his defense merely shrugged, before sighing. "We're almost finished here. Then, you two are going straight to the bath-house. Understood?"

"Got it, chief." Ruffnut replied, sketching a mock salute with a wide smile. "Straight to the bath-house, no arguments here!"

"Ah, Stoick, I already sent for Gothi to check on the lad's stitches." Spitelout piped up. "Figured it was better safe than sorry."

Stoick ran a broad hand down his face. "Fine. After the examination then."

"Right. Now, with that out of the way, what do we plan to do about this Changewing?" Stoick asked the group.

Hiccup and Fishlegs exchanged a look. It was Fishlegs who answered first. "Well, we thought that we might try driving it away. Herd it off the island and make it realize how untenable staying would be..."

"... but, now that we have this other theory kicking around, we think perhaps that might not work." Hiccup finished, giving an awkward half-shrug.

"Why not?" Stoick inquired, frowning thunderously. "This is starting to sound like there is a complication."

Astrid sighed. She had just worked out what that might be. "It'll just come back. Won't it?"

Hiccup scratched at the back of his neck, concentrating on the map on the table. "Yep. It followed Harrow all the way to Berk, after all. We have no reason to think that being chased off by a pack of Dragon Riders would dissuade it, either."

"It won't leave until it has what it wants." Fishlegs stated succinctly. He indicated Harrow with a nod. "Him."

Harrow groaned, slumped back against the edge of the table behind him, the back of his head resting on the tabletop. "Why, _why_ am I being made the center of this?"

"No good deed goes unpunished, I suppose." Tuffnut opined sagely. "Or, you don't like that one, there is the road to Hel is paved with good intentions? I could go on, I got a million more!"

Ruffnut gave him the stink eye. "Tuff, just shut up. Really."

"Sorry, Harrow, but it does look like you are the key to this situation." Hiccup said, his expression apologetic.

"So, what's the plan, then?" Gobber asked brightly. "Tie him to a tree and wave as the beastie makes off with him?"

That drew laughs from Snotlout and Tuffnut, and an annoyed groan from Harrow, who drawled, "Go to Hel, Gobber."

Grinning widely, Spitelout nudged the curmudgeonly smith with an elbow and remarked, "Oh, now I see what you mean. Very disrespectful, indeed! Ha!"

Rolling his eyes, Hiccup sighed. "No, we are not tying Harrow to a tree. That seems like an entirely unhelpful suggestion."

"But a hilarious one, make no mistake!" Spitelout observed happily. He and Gobber clinked their tankards and laughed some more.

Stoick speared them both with his best chiefly glare and got them to step back in line, if such a thing were possible. "So, we are ruling out using force to solve the Changewing issue. Fine. What is our next option?"

Fishlegs peered intently at Harrow for a moment. "Well, there is one idea we could try…"

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Hiccup asked him, also looking at Harrow with a speculative air.

Fishlegs smirked. "Oh, yeah."

"Uh, guys, care to clue the rest of us in on your brilliant plan?" Astrid cajoled, a touch peeved to be left out of the loop. Judging by the expressions of the rest of the group, she wasn't the only one.

Harrow noticed the scrutiny he was under from the dragon scholars of the group and felt his spirits sink. " I don't like the way they are looking at me…"

Ruffnut laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, whatever they come up with, I'll be there to help you through it."

Harrow couldn't help but smile back at her. "Thanks. Means a lot."

"Well?" Astrid prompted of Hiccup and Fishlegs. "We're waiting."

"Okay, so we have an idea that might work." Fishlegs started, excitement lighting up his face. "But, we will admit it's not without its flaws."

Hiccup nodded. "It's simple. If the Changewing is here for Harrow, as we suspect, then it may be possible for him to try and train it. That way, he could get it into the habit of hunting elsewhere, and leave the livestock alone."

"Wait a minute… can Changewings even _be_ trained?" Tuffnut asked, mystified.

Snotlout snorted derisively. "No way! No one has ever done that before. They're way to aggressive, remember?"

"I hate to admit it, but I agree with Snotlout." Heather added, a dubious expression on her face. "That sounds pretty dangerous. And Harrow's already been through a lot already."

Gobber shrugged, cleaning an ear with his good hand's pinkie finger. "Eh, I like my idea better."

"Aye! More fun for us!" Spitelout put in.

Harrow was having none of it. It was one thing to fly on Barf and Belch, to scratch Toothless under the chin, or to be around the relatively tame village dragons. It was entirely another to go messing around with a wild predator dragon, even one that might - operative word, _might_ \- be friendly to him. Besides, he had not come to Berk to become the babysitter for a giant acid-spitting lizard. Not that they needed to know that.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on... you want _me_ to _train_ a _Changewing_? Are you _serious_?!"

"We did say that there were some flaws to the plan." Fishlegs reiterated with a brittle smile and nervous chuckle. "There is a chance the Changewing may not react in a... positive manner, let's say."

"And, by that, you mean try and kill him?" Ruffnut drawled irritably, frowning. "I'm usually all for crazy ideas, the more insane the better, but this is a step too far… even for me!"

"Oh, come on! It won't try and kill him, Ruff." Hiccup argued, trying a reassuring smile to bolster his words. "Why would it, if it's trying to protect him? Right? Let's not forget the life bond."

"Isn't that just a theory?" Astrid asked, just doubtful as the others. "I don't think we should be risking Harrow's life on something we aren't even sure of yet."

"We don't exactly have a choice." Stoick swiftly interjected. The chief could feel the discussion was veering away from the goal at hand again and he really wanted a course of action to present to Keldt and his fellow drovers when next they came around.

He looked to Hiccup and Fishlegs, his expression stony. "You're sure there is no other way?"

"Of course." Hiccup answered. "I mean, well, short of killing it - which we're not going to do!"

Alarmed at that horrifying prospect, Fishlegs shook his head quickly. "Of course not!"

Stoick nodded, then, as if that was that. "Very well. Then, let's try the training solution. Carefully, aye?" To Harrow, he said, "I appreciate your misgivings, lad. But take heart. Fishlegs and my son know what they're about."

Harrow was not feeling reassured in the least. Still, he tried not to show it. "I'll do my best, sir."

"Good." Stoick grunted. He stood up from his seat. "Now, Nattmal is starting. All of you need to get some nourishment and rest. We'll meet again here tomorrow morning to go over the finer details of the training attempt."

As an afterthought he looked over to where Ruffnut and Harrow sat together, and added, "And, for the sake of the gods, get cleaned up!"

The Riders broke up and headed in different directions as the Chief, Gobber, and Spitelout headed for the serving tables where the evening meal was being set out. A stream of villagers began trickling in from the doors of the Hall. It wouldn't be long before the place was filled.

"Harrow, wait up." Hiccup called as Harrow stood up from where he had been sitting. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry we have to put you in the middle of this situation, but I can assure you that everything will work out fine."

"It's okay, I understand the why of it." Harrow replied. "It's just… has anyone ever tried to train a Changewing before?"

"Not that we have heard of." Astrid supplied, stepping up beside Hiccup. She tried for a reassuring smile. "But, hey, that makes you the first to make the attempt, right?"

"Heh, y-yeah… right." Harrow muttered, not enthused with the idea that there was no precedent. "But you guys do this whole dragon training thing all the time, right? You'll be able to teach me the technique?"

"Nothing to it!" Ruffnut assured him exuberantly. "It's all in gaining the trust of the dragon in question, right, Hiccup?"

"Right." Hiccup agreed. "And avoiding things that trigger a fearful or aggressive response from said dragon. It's all in the body language, really." He avoided the urge to ramble with a awkward grin. "Don't worry, we'll go over it tomorrow before we set out."

Astrid clapped a friendly hand on Harrow's shoulder despite his state of uncleanliness. "You'll do fine, Harrow. Just think, if you manage to train the Changewing, then you'll be a dragon rider just like the rest of us! Wouldn't that be amazing?"

That thought hadn't occurred to Harrow. The only thought he had entertained was the inherent danger in the enterprise should it go horribly wrong, which he felt was more than reasonable. He had never stopped to consider the outcome should he succeed.

"Me? A dragon rider?" Harrow mused, a little dumbfounded. "That… well, that does sound amazing."

"That's the spirit!" Astrid cheered, punching him lightly in the shoulder. "See you guys tomorrow!"

"Later." Harrow replied, rubbing the impact point. Even when she was pulling them her punches packed a wallop.

Ruffnut sketched a wave. "See you."

Hiccup watched Astrid walk off to join Heather and Fishlegs, then turned back to Harrow and Ruffnut. "Seriously, everything will work out. Try not to worry about it tonight. I think I see Gothi coming this way. Let her take a look at your wounds, then go get clean, get something to eat and rest up. Alright?"

"Sure." Harrow agreed. "But, understand, if that Changewing kills me tomorrow, I'm haunting you until you die, go it?"

"Quit worrying so much, you big baby!" Ruffnut admonished before Hiccup could reply. "Hiccup's the best dragon trainer in Midgard. What could go wrong?"

"Heh, uh… I appreciate the vote of confidence, Ruff. I really do." Hiccup replied, scratching the back of his head in a self-conscious way. "But let's not go jinxing ourselves, okay?"

"Who's jinxing anything?" Ruffnut teased, grinning.

"Later, Hiccup." Harrow wished him.

Hiccup spared them one more glance before he turned to seek his own meal. Gothi showed up in the next moment, with a perturbed Gobber in tow. The old blacksmith grumbled under his breath about cooling yak-chops but dutifully translated what the old healer wrote on her wax tablet.

It turned out after a cursory exam that the wound was not infected - thankfully - and that it was no longer open, having scabbed over. The stitches were still in place despite all the running around and straining Harrow had done earlier. However, when Gothi pressed on the wound lightly to test the stability of the underlying rib, Harrow gasped as a sharp pain jabbed his side.

"What's wrong?" Ruffnut asked as she watched the examination from the sidelines. "I thought things were better."

"The rib is still not fully healed, and no small wonder." Gobber replied. "Bones take weeks to heal."

"Can anything more be done for it? A potion, maybe?" Harrow asked, mildly annoyed. He was sick of feeling weak and having pain dog his movements. The constant anxiety over his injury was weighing on him.

Gothi wrote something and Gobber shook his head. "Sorry, laddie, you have to let nature do the heavy lifting with this one."

"Gods-damn it." Harrow muttered. "Well, thanks again, Gothi. And you, too, Gobber."

Gothi smiled kindly and patted him on the arm, then turned and hobbled away toward the doors of the Great Hall with the aid of her staff.

Gobber regarded Harrow with a sympathetic gaze. "If I can think of anything more that can be done, I'll let you know. For now, though, rest would be best."

Harrow nodded silently and heaved a tired sigh. Ruffnut sidled up beside him and gently looped an arm with his. "Come on, let's get out of here. I don't know about you, but I could use a bath."

Harrow huffed a short laugh despite his mood. "Now there is a phrase that I'm sure Tuffnut has never uttered in his life."

"Once a year is usually enough for him." Ruffnut laughed, a sound that warmed Harrow's heart as they walked. "And, though I'm sure it would surprise people around here, I _do_ enjoy being clean. For a while, at least, anyway."


	21. The Plot Thickens, Part 5

**Greetings once again, readers and fellow writers! StratX88 here again with another of my rare author's notes. Thank you again to those who decided to read my humble scribblings and favorite or follow this story. I hope you are having as much fun as I am! Just a heads up with this chapter, really earning the M rating this time. I don't normally write explicit or smut scenes, but for the sake of impact to plot, I dabbled with it. Let me know how it is. In fact, I'm curious to hear what people think of the story so far. Well, enough of my rambling for now. Onwards!**

* * *

Outside, the night sky was clear and the stars began to appear overhead. A full moon cast a silvery radiance over everything on the island and made the sea sparkle. A cool ocean wind stirred the trees on the landward side of the village and bent the pillars of smoke rising from the chimneys of the lodges. It was a lovely evening, altogether.

Harrow and Ruffnut walked together against the oncoming current of Vikings coming up the stone stairs, the typically hefty Hooligan folk brushing by them like water parting around stones in a streambed. More than a few of the men and women noticed the couple in their passing, their gazes appraising.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, they struck out past Haddock Hall and across the mostly empty village square. Idly, he wondered if the village really did have a bath house. He had never heard of a Viking village with such a thing. Most Vikings relied on dips in rivers, lakes, or the ocean itself for washing. Some highborn Vikings even had special metal tubs in their lodges that would allow hot water to retain its heat for just such a purpose.

When asked about the subject, Ruffnut proved very helpful in explaining. "We have hot springs here on Berk. Villagers used to just go to the springs and wash that way, out in the open. But then Hiccup got an idea after coming back from a trip with the chief to a Thing - you know, a gathering of Viking chiefs? - way, way back when he was younger. He said he stole some scrolls from the Romans on a dare one time."

Harrow quirked an eyebrow. "He stole from Romans? _Hiccup_?"

"Yeah, I know! So shocking! Very out of character for him." Ruffnut agreed, mock seriously. "But, I think it had more to do with this other tribal heir he was friends with at the time. He mentioned her to us once, but I can't recall her name. Oh well, not important!"

"So, the scrolls gave Hiccup the idea for the bath house?" Harrow prompted.

Ruffnut nodded. "He said they were plans for the construction of a bath house. I guess most Roman towns have one, and that they have both cold and hot water, and any Roman could use them at any time of the day. It sounded really, really nice. So, he brought the idea to the Chief and the council year or so ago, and though they weren't totally sold on it at first - there was a lot of other things we could do with all the quarried stone and lumber, after all - they eventually allowed him to go ahead. It's now pretty popular with the villagers on laundry day."

They stopped where the dirt street sloped away towards the coastal edge of the village before rising again to a lightly wooded promontory overlooking Hooligan Harbor. There, a squat stone building had been raised. From the roof of the building a constant tongue of steam lapped, rising high up into the night air before dissipating.

Ruffnut waved a hand at the building on the overlook. "There it is, Berk's own hot spring bath house. Ain't she a beaut?"

"It looks... nice." Harrow conceded, not wanting to be too critical. To him it looked more like a storehouse than anything special. "I bet it looks better in the daytime, though."

"You bet it does! The outside is decorated with dragon mosaics and painted tiles." Ruffnut told him. "The inside is even better. Tiles on the floor and carved stone benches. They even put down stone stairs to help you get in and out of the springs."

Harrow whistled low in appreciation. The thought of a nice warm soak was beginning to sound better and better. "That does sound good. Well, what are we waiting for? My skin is starting to itch."

Ruffnut's hold on his arm brought him up short. "Hold on, we need to make one stop before we go."

"What for?"

"For clean clothes, duh!" Ruffnut told him with a roll of her eyes. "What, you want to go through the trouble of getting clean only to put the same filth-covered clothes back on?"

"Oh. Right." Harrow smiled sheepishly, feeling foolish.

"Come on, my parent's house is at the end of the street." Ruffnut said, tugging him in the other direction.

The Thorston lodge was a large and sturdy example of Hooligan architecture. The gable was adorned with a carved Zippleback, as was the pillars beside the front door. It was also one of the few homes in the village with a full second story. It looked every bit the abode of a relatively affluent Viking family.

Ruffnut wasted no time in mounting the front steps and pushing the door open. No light spilled out. The hearth was banked low in the main room, but otherwise the home was unoccupied.

"Do you mind waiting here?" Ruffnut asked, looking back from where she was poised to enter.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Harrow assured her.

"Alright. Back in a flash!" Then she ducked inside and eased the door shut.

Harrow waited patiently in the street. Ruffnut was true to her word, however, as not long after she emerged with a bundle of clean clothes in her arms and a small carved wooden chest on top.

"All set!" Ruffnut gleefully told him, smiling widely.

Harrow eyed the box with some interest. "What do you have there?"

"Oh, nothing too terribly interesting..." Ruffnut drawled slyly, smiling widely at him. "Just some soaps, some oils. Other things…"

"What... kind of other things?" Harrow asked, wary.

Coquettish, Ruffnut winked at him. "You'll find out… if you're good."

Harrow felt his pulse quicken. Part of him was intrigued to find out what she was planning and part dreaded it. He had a sneaking suspicion that whatever it was would undoubtedly complicate the situation.

Well, complicate it even further than it already was.

Ruffnut led the way inside once they got to the bath house. The entrance was a double door with torch sconces on either side. Beyond the double doors lay a torch-lit hall which ended in a pair of smaller doorways, each leading to an opposite side of the structure.

"The bath house is split into two sections." Ruffnut explained as they approached the split in the path. "Married couples can use the section on the right, and unmarried villagers are allowed to use the section on the left."

"Oh, for privacy?" Harrow assumed.

"That, and there are some people on this island you'd rather not see naked." Ruffnut told him wryly.

Harrow winced at an unbidden mental image. "What, like... Gobber?"

Ruffnut snorted scornfully. " _Gobber_? No way he'd be caught dead in this place. It takes five strong Viking men to hold him down and dump a gods-damned bucket of water on him when he gets too rank to stand."

"Oh, thank Thor!" Harrow sighed in relief.

Ruffnut laughed at his discomfiture. "I know, right? Don't worry, we have the whole place to ourselves tonight."

"So, which section are we using, then?" Harrow asked.

"Doesn't matter if we have the run of the bath house." Ruffnut replied. "So, let's be rebels and use the married section. I hear it's a touch more luxurious."

She forged ahead down the right hallway and Harrow, seeing no reason to object, followed close behind.

It turned out that the married side of the bath house was divided into six alcoves, each facing a large softly bubbling pool and divided from its neighbors by stone walls. Each alcove had a woven tapestry hanging to the side of the entry doors and inside a small wrought-iron brazier next to a smooth stone bench.

Ruffnut plopped the bundle in her arms upon one end of the stone bench in the first alcove, drawing the tapestry across the doorway as soon as Harrow moved to join her. The light from the common hall was shut out, casting the alcove into relative darkness. Only the moonlight flowing in from what Harrow discovered was an open roof gave them anything to see by.

"Mind lighting that?" Ruffnut asked, indicating the alcove's brazier with a thrust of her chin.

"Sure thing." Harrow said, ducking out into the hall to grab a lit torch. Careful not to set the tapestry on fire, he ducked back in and set the burning brand to the dry wood in the brazier. Thankfully, the wood caught quickly and burned with little to no smoke, casting a warm orange-yellow glow into the alcove.

"There, that's better." Ruffnut remarked, placing the carved wooden box beside the bundle of clothes on the bench. "Isn't this nice?"

Harrow sat on the other end of the bench looked around. The floor was indeed tiled, he found, and the stone walls had detailed mosaics of what he recognized as the lush countryside around Berk. He marveled at the craftsmanship of the bench, too, running a hand across the smooth top of the dark stone. "It beats standing in a freezing stream up to your waist by a long shot, that's for sure."

In fact, the air in the bath house had become increasingly warm and humid the further in they had gone. Standing in the poolside alcove, he felt a sweat break out. The hot spring had a steamy haze hanging over its surface. If not for the open roof, Harrow was sure he would have passed out from overheating.

Ruffnut started sorting through the bundle she had brought as he looked around. "Okay, here are some wash linens for you."

She set aside some much used but clean wash rags and a towel. Harrow reached over and picked one up, rubbing the soft material between finger and thumb. "More of your mother's work?"

"Nah. Just fragments of older garments that couldn't be patched anymore." Ruffnut replied, sitting down beside him on the bench to kick off her boots.

She sighed as her feet were freed from their confines, then quickly yanked off her socks and wiggled her toes. "Oh, man, does that feel good!"

Harrow followed suit, setting his good leather boots off to the side. He found the floor tiles to be smooth and warm under foot. "Wow, this beats the cold stream by a long, _long_ shot. Is this floor heated, too?"

Ruffnut happily shrugged as she took off her helmet and threw it off to the side with a hollow clank. "Who knows? All I know is I'm not complaining."

About that time, as Ruffnut stood and shrugged off the vest she wore over her shirt, Harrow's mind ran across an important issue to ponder regarding this set of circumstances.

"Uh, Ruff, how are we planning on doing this?"

"Well, Harrow, usually you first take soap and water and apply it vigorously to the skin, thus creating a lather -"

"I _know_ how to wash up, Ruff." Harrow flatly interjected. "I meant, how are we going to take a bath at the same time?"

Smirking, Ruff looked round at him with a coy expression. "What, you don't want to see me naked?"

The very blunt nature of her inquiry stunned his brain. She didn't sound at all upset with the idea of him seeing her unclothed, and that combined with his recently discovered attraction to her caused all thought to grind to a halt. The only thing he could reply with was a very intelligent, "Uh...?!

Ruffnut laughed heartily at the poleaxed expression on his face. "Well, actually, I was going to do this!" She took three steps and jumped as high out over the hot springs as she could still mostly dressed, drawing her legs up below her and wrapping her arms around her knees. "Catapult boulder!"

The sound she made upon hitting the water was a loud, flat smack. The splash was big enough to cause a wave to wash over the pool's edge. Harrow could only look on in wonder as Ruffnut surfaced a second or too later, sputtering, blonde braids floating around her in the mineral-clouded water. She wiped a hand down her face to get the water droplets that clung to her brows and the tip of her nose, then turned and beamed at him radiantly.

"Come on in, the water's fine!"

"I don't know… should I get in all the way with stitches in my side?" Harrow asked, feeling a touch of nerves about the prospect of disrobing in front of her. He knew he probably shouldn't be so self conscious around her, that she would relish the experience, but old habits die hard. He had to admire her carefree attitude.

Ruffnut shrugged where he supposed she floated - he had to assume the spring was fairly deep, she _did_ just jump in and go under, after all - and replied, "I don't think Gothi said not too, but I wouldn't risk it. I don't want you taking longer to heal."

Harrow thought that was a reasonable assessment. "Okay, so, I guess I'll just sit with my legs in the water, then."

"Cool." Ruffnut said with a teasing smile tugging her lips. "I'll try to maybe, possibly not splash you… too much."

"How come I don't trust that statement?" Harrow gamely replied, unable to hide his own grin.

"You are starting to catch on quick." Ruffnut observed with a chuckle, pulling at something under the water's surface.

Harrow was going to ask what she was up to, but felt the question die as she threw her soaked pants back onto the tiled floor of the alcove with a wet splat. The pants were followed by her shirt, then a thin strip of cloth that must have been her chest binding, and finally her underwear.

Ruffnut sighed with pleasure as she swam around, bare arms and shoulders breaking the surface along with flashes of her long legs and feet. "This feels great! A shame you can't come in all the way."

"Uh, yeah… right… a d-damn shame..." Harrow mumbled, having not quite managed to slow a heart now beginning to race. Seeing mere hints of her bare body was making it hard to think properly.

Ruffnut swam around a little more before treading water again. She looked up at him with a calculating gaze. "You know, if you ask me, I think you are still a touch over-dressed for this occasion."

Harrow caught her meaning as he looked down to see that he still wore the fouled clothing. "Oh, right."

Ruffnut giggled. She actually _giggled_ to see him so out of sorts. Did she know what kind of effect she was having on him, now? He thought maybe she did.

"I want to see those clothes in a pile on the floor when next I surface." She told him, mock serious. "The whole point of coming in here was to get clean, remember?"

Harrow was beginning to think that was not entirely her only goal. She slowly submerged herself, eyeing him suggestively all the while.

When she was fully under water, he got rid of the dung-stained pants and shirt. In an effort to not totally be without cover, he took one of the bigger washing linens and draped it over his bare lap when he sat down on the pool's edge. He hoped that it was enough to cover the evidence of his awakening arousal.

Ruffnut surfaced a few seconds later and threw her head back, spraying him with hot water. When next she laid eyes on him, her eyes assumed a smouldering, half-lidded quality. "Mmmm, that's much better."

"Yeah?" Harrow looked down at himself. "Think so?"

"Oh, fishing for compliments now, are we?" Ruffnut snarked saucily. "Well, alright, you are incredibly well-proportioned. Just look at those pecs! I mean, it looks like I could almost use your stomach as a washboard."

Harrow couldn't help but feel a measure of exaltation hearing that. "Thanks."

Ruffnut swam lazily over to float in front of where he sat on the side of the pool. "You know, I find it really hard to believe such a fine specimen of male Vikingdom could be so… bashful, you know?"

Helpless to explain, Harrow shrugged. "I know, I know… but that's me. I'm weird like that."

"I don't think you're weird. I think it's cute." Ruffnut informed him matter of factly. "I like the juxtaposition of it. On the surface, tough guy Harrow. All action and no doubts. And on the inside, a more reserved and vulnerable Harrow. Someone who is just like the rest of us, someone looking for a little understanding. And... maybe a hug."

"Wow, I didn't think you'd be so…"

"Perceptive? Observant?" Ruffnut supplied nonchalantly. "Analytical?"

"Yeah, all the above."

Ruffnut chuckled sadly. "I'm smarter than people give me credit for."

Harrow frowned. "I wouldn't worry about other people. They just don't recognize genius when they see it."

"You think I'm a genius?" Ruffnut echoed, brows arched in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." Harrow assured her. "And you know what else?"

"No, what?"

"You're beautiful, too."

That earned him a scoffing laugh and a splash. "You are _so_ full of yakshit!"

"No, I'm not!" Harrow protested earnestly, blinking hot water from his eyes. "I meant it. And I'm sorry it took me almost a week to realize it."

Ruffnut studied him with her clear blue eyes, searching his face for sincerity. When she couldn't find any sign of dishonesty, she blushed. "Oh."

They stared at each other for a long minute, lost in each other's gaze. Harrow didn't know what he ought to say next, his stomach unsettled and his chest tight with emotion. He didn't know where any of this was going but it felt right to finally be _honest_ for once. He felt that all the half-truths and lies that he had to wear like a mask had fallen away, if even for a little while.

"Hey, do you mind helping me with my braids?" Ruffnut asked at length. "I got some of that yak crap in my hair and it's a real bitch to undo them on my own."

"Sure."

Ruffnut swam over and turned her back to him, lifting one long braid and holding it out to him. "Careful you don't pull too hard."

"I'll try to be." Harrow told her, taking the braid and finding it actually had some weight from the water it had soaked up. "So, where do I start?"

"Start at the bottom." Ruffnut instructed. "Just give it a tug - yeah, just like that. There you go."

Harrow did as she suggested. The first braid unwound on its own after a little coaxing. The second required a little more force, eliciting a pained yelp from its owner. "Sorry, it was being stubborn. Won't happen again."

"S'okay." Ruffnut replied. "I can take it from here." She used her fingers to comb through her long golden tresses, unsnarling and detangling with a thoughtful expression. Each section she finished spread out around her till her hair flowed like a golden sheet down her back and over her shoulders.

Ruffnut made a small annoyed whine when she realized she didn't have any of her soaps handy.

"Damn it, should have put the box on the edge. That was dumb." Then, she bit her lip, looking as if a particularly cheeky thought had crossed her mind. "Oh, Harrow, would you be a dear and go fetch me the soap box from the bench? Please?"

Harrow looked over his shoulder at the box in question, three feet away. He turned back to meet her attempt at puppy-dog eyes, and knew exactly what her plan was. "You want me to get up to get your soap box?"

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble." Ruffnut replied, rough feminine voice taking on a saccharine quality. She batted her eyes at him for good measure.

Harrow had to laugh at her antics. He decided to say to hell with it. "As you wish."

He stood up, allowing the wash linen to fall away as he did. The gasp Ruffnut made upon seeing him as nature intended sent a little shivering thrill up his spine.

He tried to hide the little smile his lips fell into as he retrieved the box and returned to his seat, not even bothering with the washcloth this time. "Here you are, as requested."

"Wow…!" Ruffnut breathed, lust burning in her eyes as she looked on him. " _Very_ well proportioned…"

"Ruff?"

Ruffnut snapped herself out of her carnal stupor with shake of her head. "Right! The soap box. Let's see…"

Harrow couldn't help but feel a little smug as she set the box on the side of the pool beside him and opened the little wooden container, busily rooted around the small ceramic bottles inside. "Did you like what you saw?"

Ruffnut glanced up at his face for a brief moment. "Do you have to ask? I mean, I felt like I was drooling."

"Heh, you might have been."

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?" Ruffnut accused him playfully. "Flaunting yourself before me?"

"Whoa, hold on there, _flaunting_ is kind of a strong word." Harrow returned with a grin. "Though, it does wonders for the old self-esteem to see how I affect you."

"Uh huh." Ruffnut murmured, mock serious. "Well, I think you are just a closet exhibitionist and you are getting a kick out of finally getting to strut your stuff. That's fine, I don't mind at all."

"I'm not going to confirm or deny that statement." Harrow stated, taking up the wash cloth from its place on the floor. He dipped it in the water and began to scrub at himself.

Ruffnut selected one of the ceramic jars from her collection and pulled the stopper from its mouth and setting it the side so as not to lose it. She up-ended the bottle into her wet palm a few times before a viscous pale yellow substance oozed out. The smell of wildflowers and honey wafted from her hand, evoking images of a field of blooms in late spring. Harrow recognized it as the scent he had smelled on her before, at the old watch tower.

Harrow paused in his own ministrations to watch as she put the bottle down and began to work the soap carefully into her hair. She took her time with the process, making sure every inch of her sun-hued hair got a thorough lather worked up. When she was finished, she dunked herself and came back up, raked her fingers through the sudsy mess on her head.

The difference in her appearance with her hair out of her braids and down around her shoulders was amazing. She looked softer, more feminine. He hoped to emblazon the image of her like this in his mind, but she caught him staring and favored him with a flirty grin. "Checking me out again, are you?"

"Well, we were interrupted earlier today." Harrow pointed out lightly.

"Very true." Ruffnut purred, throwing a palmful of soap bubbles to the side. She floated right up to him and braced herself with her arms on his knees, resting her face in her hands. "And, right when things were getting good."

Harrow's attention was drawn to the way she had lifted herself a short ways out of the water, the swell of her modest bust revealed by the cloudy water. A very tantalizing sight.

"Eyes up here, tough guy."

Harrow snapped his gaze back up to Ruffnut's face, found her giving him a wanton grin "Ah, sorry… rude of me." he faltered, dropping his head, unsure of where he should hold his gaze.

"No, I'm being rude here." Ruffnut told him, lifting his head with a hand to his chin. "Here you are, baring it all for me, and here I am hiding the goods. Where is my sense of fairness?"

Before Harrow could ask what she meant, she put her hands up on the side of the pool and lifted herself up and out of the water to sit beside him.

Harrow knew he shouldn't stare, but he couldn't help but do nothing else. Ruffnut sat leaning back with her arms back and hands braced flat against the tiled floor, bare chest proudly thrust out and legs stretched out over the water, ankles crossed. Her still-wet hair cascaded down her back and pooled on the floor behind her.

"Now, whose the one drooling?" She taunted with a smug smirk.

Harrow shut his gaping mouth with an audible click. He swallowed against a throat gone dry, struggled to find coherent thought. "Uh… w-wow, Ruff… you're…!"

"Hot? Desirable? Absolutely toothsome?" Ruffnut supplied eagerly. She giggled again, and did a little shimmy with her shoulders. The effect on her pert womanly endowments was mesmerizing, in Harrow's honest opinion.

She gasped a moment later as her eyes fell to his lap and the noticeable development there. "Hmm, looks like Little Harrow appreciates the show just fine."

"Hey!"

"Oops, sorry!" Ruffnut said with a laugh. "I didn't mean it _that_ way. Don't worry, you have nothing to be ashamed of."

With a sharp intake of breath, Harrow felt the sting of indignation fade as she shifted and boldly reached over to wrap one hand around him firmly.

"Ruff…!"

The woman in question stuck her tongue out between her teeth, blue eyes darkened with lust, as she concentrated on the object of her attention. Her hand slowly rose and fell as she experimented with him, remembering to be careful with this most sensitive element of his anatomy.

She had only ever daydreamed about this kind of stuff, or discreetly listened to her mother chatting with the other married women when they thought no one was around. Like any other young, red-blooded woman she had fantasized about being with a man, how it would be and what it would feel like. Unfortunately for her, she had to just leave it as such, as nothing more than naughty thoughts due to the lack of a suitable partner. There had been a depressing shortage of eligible candidates on Berk until only just recently.

Now that she found said partner, though, she was able to get some _hands-on_ experience. No way she was passing this up!

"Do you like that?" Ruffnut husked, though she really didn't need to if the way he hitched his hips was any indication.

Harrow groaned, his breath becoming uneven. "Yes!"

Ruffnut savored this feeling of power. Harrow was at her mercy now, even if what she was doing to him was nothing really, only her hand and a little friction. But she wanted more, _needed_ more.

Wordlessly, she clambered into his lap so that she straddled him, making sure to adjust him so that she didn't crush Little Harrow as she settled herself comfortably with her thighs bracketing his. This position also had the benefit of putting her chest at his eye-level, and the added perk of making a quick getaway impractical for him.

Not that she had any concerns about that, judging by the sounds he was making and the way his hands flexed like he was trying to strain against invisible bonds as she kept up her slow torture. Her eyes fixated on Harrow's mouth, and without much more thought, Ruffnut pressed her lips to his and delighted in the guttural hum that rose from his throat.

She smiled against his questing lips as she felt his hands free themselves of those spectral bonds to find a place for themselves on her hips. His grip was rough and she thrilled at the firm pressure he exerted as he tried to pull her closer. Ruffnut suspected that she could get used to his hands on her body, the way they started to roam up her back and down to her bottom.

Harrow's lips left hers and began to travel slowly downwards, first peppering kisses along her jawline, then down the side of her throat, and then to her collarbone. Ruffnut sighed, luxuriating in the feel of his hot mouth on her skin. She gave a surprised yelp when his mouth found her right nipple.

"Too hard?" He asked, immediately letting go.

"N-no, just… wasn't prepared for that." Ruffnut stuttered, blushing at the higher than normal pitch and the quaver of her voice. "I think… I may like it, actually."

Harrow smirked. "You _may_ like it? Should I try it again?"

"You can do whatever you want to me." Ruffnut replied with a provocative little smirk. "I'm pretty sure I won't mind."

Thus reassured, Harrow went back to his amorous attentions. Ruffnut made throaty, appreciative little moans as he laid some attention on her breasts. She hadn't expected it to feel as good as it did, and grasped the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his black hair.

This went on for long minutes, Harrow alternating between claiming her mouth hungrily and using a rough tongue on her nipples. Ruffnut became progressively more animated and demanding the more aroused she became, her ability to speak devolving into impassioned gasps and quiet curses.

Her mind was consumed by the twinned needs to savor more pleasure and to try and reciprocate as much as possible. She felt amazing already, yet she could think of only one other way to take things up a notch.

So, she lifted herself up on her knees, purring as Harrow now kissed the smooth skin of her stomach, and positioned her core over his manhood. She was not afraid of losing her maidenhead, as that had long ago torn through the vigorous physical demands of being a dragon rider and a shieldmaiden in training. Still, she was a little leery of just jamming herself down on Harrow. She didn't want to hurt him and spoil their intimate moment or the memory of it.

Instead, she resolved to slowly lower herself until their nethermost regions barely touched. She teased her entrance with him and tried to stifle a animalistic groan of desire.

Of course, for all her fears of spoiling the moment, in the end it was Harrow who managed that feat. Sensing what she was up to, he grabbed her by the upper arms. "Whoa, there!"

"What?!" Ruffnut demanded to know, need and instinct making rational thought very hard.

"Ruff, maybe we should slow down and take a moment to think about this." Harrow suggested, seeking her gaze.

Ruffnut froze, a look of incomprehension and hurt replacing the aroused desire on her face. "Why?"

Harrow flinched at the stricken tone in her voice. He realized he had let things go too far. Still, he thought it better to try and stop things from going well past the point of no return. "It's not that I don't find you attractive - I _clearly_ do - it's just… this doesn't feel right."

"Oh, come on, Harrow... don't stop now!" Ruffnut pleaded breathlessly, "Just a little more… even if it's just the tip, we're so close!"

"Ruff!" Harrow spoke her name again, sharply.

Ruffnut sucked in a sharp breath, recoiling away from him as if struck. She jerked out of his grip and stood up, crossing her arms over her bare breasts. He missed her proximity keenly, the warmth of her skin on his now gone. As impossible as it sounded, he felt colder in the steamy bath house with her gone.

Her expression grew stormy, anger now joining the mix as she glared down at him. "You sure picked a fine time to have an attack of morality."

Harrow sighed, gaze imploring. "Ruff, please…"

"Go on - tell me why you can kiss me a-and touch me, but y-you don't want to _be_ with me!" Ruffnut shouted.

"Ruff, it's not that I don't _want_ to." Harrow tried to reassure her. And it wasn't, honestly. He was a healthy, red-blooded Viking man. She had, frankly speaking, a more lissom figure that he usually preferred, but that didn't change the fact that she was a lovely young Viking woman. If circumstances were not as they were, he would be more than willing to take that final intimate step with her.

However, he couldn't very well just tell her the real reason for his hesitation. The situation with Viggo, and how he was going to stab them all in the back just as soon as he figured out a way to get away with it. How he wouldn't even be on Berk if not for Signy's sake. How everything he had done from the moment he had been brought ashore was built on an ever-growing lie.

Instead, thinking quickly - a feat in and of itself, given that most of his blood was in the wrong head for such a task - he opted for a more conventional excuse. "I don't want to make things complicated with your family."

Ruffnut snorted derisively, sneering. " _That's_ what you're worried about? I don't give a good _gods-damn_ what my family thinks!"

Harrow winced, but forged on. "Think of it, though. Eventually they are going to wonder why I don't go to negotiate with your father for your bride-price."

"So?" Ruffnut retorted, cocking a hip. "Wait - you're telling me you don't want to sleep with me because you're worried about _paying_ for me?"

"Well, it sounds bad when you put it that way." Harrow conceded wryly, shrugging. "But, that is traditionally how these things go - I, as the suitor, negotiate a contract for your hand in marriage. The problem is, Ruff, I don't have anything. Everything I had - and that wasn't much to begin with - was lost in the shipwreck."

Ruffnut pouted her lips, but the rest of her features softened as she listened. "Go on."

Harrow stood up carefully so that he could meet her gaze. "Listen, I know this is not what you want to hear, but I would prefer to save the moment when we truly become one for the right moment. Preferably on the night our honey month begins."

"You know… we only just met a week and a few days ago." Ruffnut mused, eyeing his face carefully. "How can you be worrying about something like marriage now?"

"I know… kind of sudden, right? Still, you can't help what you feel." Harrow told her, smiling a tad sheepishly. "Nothing about any of this is normal. But, I feel like we could be happy together."

She regarded him warily for a long moment. "So… you're saying… you want to marry me - even though we hardly know each other?"

"I think we were getting to know each other pretty well, a moment ago." Harrow replied, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively with a smirk.

" _Not_ what I meant." Ruffnut drawled, unamused.

Harrow sighed, ran a hand through his hair. He had bet his joke on lightening the mood. No joy there. "Okay, a bad time to make light of a serious situation. I'm sorry."

"You didn't answer my question, Harrow."

"I'm saying…maybe we should get to know each other better." Harrow ventured. "Beyond the now obvious mutual physical attraction."

Ruffnut seemed to consider his proposition. Harrow held his peace, not wanting to influence her decision unduly. He didn't know what would be worse: her walking away from him and ending their budding romance, or having to maintain the lie he lived.

"Fine. We'll wait for the main event." Ruffnut conceded at length, reluctant. The embers of her hurt and disappointment could still be seen in the way she looked at him now. But, they were tempered with hope. "But, let's get one thing straight, mister Viking-Tough-Guy: if we're going to be a thing, I want to know about you. Your life before the shipwreck. Got it?"

"You want all of that now?" Harrow asked, quirking a brow and throwing a meaningful look at their state of undress.

"Okay, fine, not now." Ruffnut replied, trying and failing not to smirk. She still looked him up and down appreciatively. The hungry look from before came back to her eyes. "Hey, if you don't want to ruin the magic of the the honey month, would you be opposed to doing… _other_ things?"

"Depends." Harrow allowed carefully. "What do you have in mind?"

"Here, I'll show you." Ruffnut told him eagerly, flashing a roguish smile as she motioned for him to sit down again on the side of the spring.

Harrow did as he was bade. Ruffnut sat beside him, nearly bouncing with anticipation where she sat as she picked up the little wooden bath box and put it in her naked lap. She opened the box and took out each of the jars and bottles, setting them to the side and out of the way. Next, she stuck a finger down into a crevice on the bottom right corner of the box, lifting carefully until a false-bottom popped up. There, in the hidden compartment, lay a small scroll case. Carefully, almost with reverence, Ruffnut picked up the tube and opened it. She extracted a yellowed roll of parchment secured with a fine red string and set the tube aside with the box.

"What's that?" Harrow asked, peering at the scroll in her hands.

Ruffnut kept that rascally grin plastered to her face as she replied, "A manual."

"A manual? Like a guide-book?"

"Just so, my dear Harrow." Ruffnut purred. "Can you guess on what subject?"

Harrow shook his head. "I haven't a clue."

In silent reply, she slid the red string off the scroll and slowly unfurled the parchment. Slowly, Harrow made out the stylized images of what could only be men and women, arranged in a rough grid. Each pair of figures were engaged in explicit intimate acts, some of which had Harrow tilting his head and squinting.

"This is a sex guide." Harrow flatly stated more than asked moment later. "I really should have known. Where did you get this, might I ask? Or do I want to know?"

"Well, interesting story…" Ruffnut started, her gaze on the rather more acrobatic illustrations. "Tuffnut bartered this from one of these traveling traders that sometimes pass through Berk. I never could get him to tell me what he traded, but I could tell it was _pretty_ valuable."

Harrow grimaced. "Your brother traded for a dirty picture scroll?"

"I guess so." Ruffnut chuckled. "He's such a great gods-damned muttonhead, sometimes."

"So… how did _you_ get it, then?"

Ruffnut winked at him. "How else do you think?"

"You stole it?" Harrow guessed with a wide grin.

"Got it in one!" Ruffnut crowed. "He's been bent out of shape for months, now. The best part? He doesn't even suspect I have it. He thinks _Snotlout_ has it, and isn't sharing all the juicy info with him."

"Sounds like Tuffnut, alright." Harrow agreed with a laugh. He peered closer at the scroll, still trying to make out exactly what was going on in a few. He had no idea people could _bend_ like that. "So… you want to... try one of these?"

"Hmm, that is the basic idea." Ruffnut confirmed, idly caressing his chest with a hand. "Only, I'm not sure if we could pull off any of this stuff."

"Well, I'm sure we'll figure something out that works for us." Harrow said. "After all, we have the night to experiment, right?"

"Right!" Ruffnut agreed enthusiastically. "Come on, lover boy - let's see how dirty we can get while getting clean, shall we?"


End file.
